


Clear Out All the Smoke

by Glitchedwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cigarettes, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Marijuana, Mentions of homophobia, Mutual Pining, Some hints of - Freeform, Stoner Castiel, Underage Drinking, but like this is a college AU would it be a college AU without those tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 21:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15324459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitchedwings/pseuds/Glitchedwings
Summary: After completing his AA in Kansas, Dean transfers to the University of Washington for a blank slate. He just wants to drink overly expensive coffee and pass his classes, but instead he meets the intriguing Castiel. They become acquaintances, then friends, and might be on the way to becoming something more. But before they can find out, Cas sets out on a quest to find the father he’s never met, forcing Dean to confront memories of his own father along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a long ride to publish my first ever fic! I'm super grateful to the many people who helped me over on the[ Profound Bond server](https://profoundbond.net), including [ Halzbarry](https://halzbarry.tumblr.com), [ Aleeliah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleeliah/pseuds/aleeliah) and [Bucky](Https://words-aremy-weapons.tumblr.com) .
> 
> I also need to thank my awesome artist [Alpacasfluff](https://alpacasfluff.tumblr.com) who illustrated my fic!! Go check out her beautiful work [here](http://alpacasfluff.tumblr.com/post/175979421361/my-art-for-idjitsaviorss-fic-clear-out-all-the)! (And see it embedded throughout.)
> 
> Lastly, a shoutout to the mods at the[ Deancas Mini Bang ](https://deancasminibang.tumblr.com)for all their effort in organizing this bang.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

Dean doesn't usually sit so close to the front of the lecture hall, preferring the middle range, but he's running a little late and decides to beeline toward the first empty chair he sees. As he takes off his backpack and slides into the seat, he realizes he's picked a spot next to a preppy-looking student wearing sunglasses. Inside. On an overcast day.

  
People who wear sunglasses inside are either blind or douches. And Dean doesn't see a cane or dog, so it looks like Sunglasses Dude falls into the latter category. Plus, he has a bit of a douchey air about him. Dean grimaces.  
  
Well, Dean amends, as he watches the guy rest his head facedown on the table, he could fall into the incredibly hungover category. His impression of Sunglasses changes and he chuckles a bit in sympathy.  


  
The guy obviously hears Dean laughing, because he props his head up on his hand and slowly turns to face the noise, his mouth a scowl. It would look more intimidating if the dude's eyes were also angry, but Dean can only imagine them scrunched up against the light behind his glasses, and he can't help but laugh again. Sighing, Sunglasses goes back to his face-down-on-the-probably-very-dirty-table pose. Dean would wonder why he's sitting in the front and not the way way back, but it looks like it took all of his energy just to stumble into the first chair he could find.  
  
Right as Dean is about to tell him that he understands his pain, the professor walks in, ending the class' chatter and erasing the thought from his mind.  
  
Most of his professors are approachable, but there's something about Prof MacLeod that intimidates his students. Dean's asked him a few questions during office hours and he actually seems like a nice enough guy, (if not snarky as hell), but he causes intense speculation and fear among many of Dean's classmates.  
  
Maybe it's the accent. Or the getup. That definitely contributes, Dean thinks, as the professor hangs his heavy overcoat on the chair in front. Anyone in a full suit is automatically more intimidating.  
  
MacLeod begins the lecture and everyone dutifully whips out their note-taking method of choice. Dean digs around his backpack to find a pencil he deems sharp enough to work with, and starts writing.  
  
He forgets about the hungover dude to his left all through the slides, all through the discussion, he forgets about him while the professor picks unsuspecting students to answer questions about non-mendelian genetics. He doesn't remember about his poor peer until MacLeod turns his eyes in Dean's direction. Dean freezes for a second until he realizes the professor's gaze is on the boy right next to him, who still hasn't moved from his face-down position.  
  
"Young man, in the green shirt,"—that's me, Dean realizes belatedly—"would you be so kind as to let your friend know that he won't find the answers written on the desk?"  
  
"He's not my fr—" Dean's protest dies as the professor continues to glare his way.  
  
He caves under the intense look and tentatively nudges the shoulder next to him. After a delay, Sunglasses manages to sit upright, though Dean suspects his eyes are probably still closed behind the shades.  
  
"Yes, Professor?" The boy growls out, sounding like he chased last night's alcohol with gravel.  
  
MacLeod considers him, an amused yet somehow sarcastic look on his face, and asks, "The class was talking about X-linked genetic diseases and conditions. Would you like to offer an example? Or is the table grain more interesting?"  
  
By now the rest of the room has zeroed in on the drama and is waiting in a hush to see it play out. The kid continues to face forward, and into the quiet mutters, "Mendel would never betray me like this."  
  
Dean stares at him, a little bit in awe at that nonsensical answer but mostly horribly concerned for the guy's wellbeing at the hands of MacLeod. He's a teacher known for his verbal sharpness, especially toward off-task students. Becky almost cried last week when he picked on her.  
  
"What was that?" The professor questions from across the room, stepping a bit closer.  
  
"He said," Dean jumps quickly into the verbal gap before Sunglasses can dig his hole further, "that... red-green color blindness is... an example of an X-linked condition. A recessive one. Non-mendelian. Sir."  
  
"Thanks, Romeo. And tell me why Juliet couldn't project his voice himself?"  
  
Dean casts around for a good excuse. "I mean... you're kind of intimidating, Professor. He probably gets scared to speak up." The class titters because it's true, though they themselves would never say it to MacLeod's face. Which Dean just did. Shit!  
  
"Alright, acknowledged," the prof drawls dismissively, turning away from Dean. "I'd like the class to know that they should never feel intimidated, if they have questions, to ask them. Ask them of my TA, I mean. I'd also like them to know," he says, shooting his eyes once more in Sunglasses' direction, "that if they want to sleep they can do so in my TA's sessions, not in mine." The class gives him an obligatory laugh and the lecture continues.  
  
Now that the heat is off Dean and his next-door neighbor, he turns to fully examine the guy whose neck he just saved. Behind the sunglasses, his face is very grave and sharp, but not unattractive, Dean muses. Okay, okay, focus.  
  
"My name's Dean," he says in a partial whisper, extending his hand. The guy looks at the offered appendage and makes no move to extend his own hand, so Dean drops it, a little flustered.  
  
But before he faces forward, the guy catches him with a "Cas."  
  
"What?" Dean pauses, half-turned, and looks back over.  
  
"My name. Cas."  
  
"Oh, uh, cool. Nice to meet you. And you're welcome."  
  
"...Thank you," Sunglasses, or "Cas" that is, says painstakingly. Dean chuckles again, and because the man is obviously in pain, shakes his head and resolves to stop bothering him.  
  
"You definitely owe me one, dude."  
  
With that, Dean turns his attention back to the lecture, and Cas settles his head into the cradle of his arms on the desk. Dean hears a muffled "Noted" from his left and smiles, ducking his head to continue his notes.  
  
\---  
  
The lecture lets out not long after that, and Dean watches most of the other students filter out before he starts getting ready to go.  
  
He pulls his backpack up on the table and unzips it, ready to pack away his things.

“Dean.”

Startled, Dean fumbles his notebook and it falls back onto the table.

He looks to his left and sees that Cas has rejoined the land of the living, or at least sat up and looked in Dean's direction.  
  
After making sure that he has Dean's attention, he continues. "I realize that... while I detest this class, I need to pass it. And that's hard to do when you can't focus on the professor for very long..."  
  
"Spit it out, man."  
  
"I was wondering if I could borrow your notes?"  
  
Dean's slightly caught off guard, but he figures he's already saved this guy's ass once in the past hour, why not once more? Cas looks like he needs all the help he can get, and it's a nice ass to save— Winchester! Just be chill for one whole minute, will you.  
  
"Um, sure, I can text them to you or—"  
  
Cas slides Dean's notebook towards himself, and for a split second Dean wonders if the strange student will take Dean's notes home with him. However, he simply reaches over to grab the pencil and writes his email in the margin, then closes the cover and pushes it back. Dean nods, and continues packing up his supplies.  
  
"Thank you," Cas grates out as he stands to leave. "It appears I now owe you two. Dude."  
  
Dean shakes his head and smiles as Cas walks out of the lecture hall. He can't quite tell, but he thinks that was an attempt at a joke. What a weird guy.


	2. Chapter 2

**To:** castielnovak@uw.edu  
**From** **:** deanw96@uw.edu  
**Subject:** todays notes  
**4 Attachments**  
  
\---  
  
Another night, another party.  
  
Tonight, it was Bela who had invited him and then promptly left to some other, probably better lit, part of the house. Sorority girls aren't technically allowed to host, but upperclassman in the live-outs get away with a lot.  
  
Dean grimaces as he downs the rest of his jungle juice. Whoever mixed this batch was probably already drunk because the ratio of juice to vodka is horrible. The party is similarly shitty.  
  
Idly, he wonders if he could find the straight vodka and skip all this juice nonsense, but shakes his head. He doesn't really want to get that drunk tonight, so he downgrades to a beer, maneuvers around some dancing bodies, and escapes to the back of the house.  
  
Pushing open the door, he's greeted with a refreshing burst of cold air and a view of the alley. Not very picturesque, but the twinkle of the cars and shopping mall below gives the night an airy quality, much better than the stuffy, over-vaped interior he's stepping out of.  
  
Dean sits down awkwardly, one leg bending under him and one extending straight to skip a step, all the while making sure to keep his beer level. Once he's safely situated, he places the can next to him, digs out his cigarette pack with one hand and searches for a lighter with the other.  
  
Grumbling, cigarettes in his lap and all pockets searched, he has to admit defeat. He must've left his lighter in his coat pocket, at home. He can't believe he forgot his coat, and shivers at the cold night air.  
  
He’s reaching for his beer to have something consolatory to do with his hands when a voice from below startles him.  
  
"Need a light?"  
  
Somehow in his time outside, Dean hasn't noticed the boy sitting in the dark on the other side of the stoop, on a lower step. He's mostly just a shape in shadow, but one arm reaches up into a square of light from the house window to offer a lighter.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Dean takes the Bic gratefully, lights up, inhales, and relaxes. After a moment he exhales and makes to hand back the lighter, but the other guy has already withdrawn his hand, and takes no notice of Dean's attempt. Without hesitation, Dean scoots over on the top step and taps the guy on the shoulder.  
  
"Hey, here's your lighter back. Appreciated."  
  
"Not a problem," the recipient drags out as he turns halfway to retrieve it while fumbling with something in his lap.  
  
Before Dean can ask what he's doing out here with a lighter but nothing to smoke, the guy brings to chest level a small pipe that catches the light. He fiddles once more with the contents, brings the glass to face-level. and lights the bowl.  
  
Dean sits back, assumptions made and curiosity satisfied. This is a Seattle college kid, after all. He probably isn't going to smoke tobacco in that pipe.  
  
Since he's moved here, Dean has quickly become accustomed to the high density of weed, but is still sometimes amused by the whole subculture. Different strains, different highs, different ways to smoke... it's not really his scene. Some booze and a pack of cigs is enough of a party for him; simple and straightforward.  
  
A cloud of smoke wafts over him as his cigarette lays idle between his fingers, and he breathes it in on impulse. It's not his thing, and it smells too strong, but it’s at least better than that froufrou watermelon smoke inside. Ick.  
  
The concrete steps are cold through his jeans. Dean inhales his own smoke again and wonders if he should break the newly-formed silence. I mean, the guy did offer him a lighter, which was nice. And it's kind of like a smoke-break situation, right? A little friendly chatting wouldn't be amiss.  
  
He's about to address the back of this guy's head with some weak attempt at conversation—'Not feeling the party either?', or a maybe lame 'it's a nice night out'—when the head turns and looks straight at Dean.  
  
"I believe I'm now back down to one owed favor," the guy's mouth says.  
  
Dean's struck dumb in response. It's Sunglasses Dude—he recognizes his voice now—but he's not wearing sunglasses anymore. Nope, instead he's endangering the public: allowing the light to fall directly on his face, letting it throw sparkles into his uncovered eyes, recklessly blinding Dean with bright, bright blue—  
  
Dean coughs.  
  
"Oh, yeah, um," _what was his name what was his name_ , "Cas, right? Fancy meeting you here."  
  
Smooth, Dean, real smooth. Crunchy-peanut-butter smooth.  
  
Before Cas can answer or Dean can reclaim some dignity, the door opens behind them. A bubble of noise slips out—laughing, high-pitched rambling, frenetic baseline—and then muffles again as the door closes.  
  
Dean turns, spell burst, trying to reassemble his frazzled brain. He assesses the newcomer, who heads straight for Cas.  
  
"I knew I'd find you out here, you antisocial fuck," is the first thing out of her mouth.  
  
Dean's a little taken aback— her styled hair and precise eyeliner didn't prepare him for that level of hostility. But then he sees how Cas' mouth curves up slightly, and how she grins back, open mouthed. Oh. Dean relaxes muscles he hadn't even realized he'd tensed.  
  
"But Meg," Cas says, fake placation in his tone, "I am being social. This is my friend, Dean."  
  
"Hi _Dean_." She sits next to him on the step, behind Cas. Cas turns forward and leans back against her legs, and Meg rests her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes roam over Dean.  
  
"I'm Meg, obviously," she says, bringing one hand up to tap her chest, where her fingertips linger longer than necessary. "And this here is my errant Castiel, who was _supposed_ to text me the second he entered my house." She smacks her hand back down and squeezes his shoulders, glaring playfully at his head.  
  
"Technically I never entered it," comes the lazy reply as Cas relights his pipe.  
  
"Touché. Anyway, this party is lame so we're hopping to the garden, and you are coming."  
  
"That's quite a kind offer, Meg, but you know I don't like beach sex."  
  
Meg smacks him on the back of the head, with an "Asshole", and stands up. "Come on, we're burning daylight."  
  
Cas mutters that the phrase doesn't work quite so well at nighttime, but stands as well and starts up the steps with a small smile.  
  
Dean sits and glares forward, feeling stupid as Cas walks past him. He takes a long drag. Of course a guy like Cas would have a girlfriend. Gorgeous, funny, probably smart; of course he would. He still could have included Dean a little more, or something. Whatever. It's not like they're really friends, Cas had just said it for politeness—  
  
"Hey! Dean-o! Move your ass!"  
  
Dean turns around, sees Meg holding open the door.  
  
"You coming or not?"  
  
The absolute last thing Dean needs is to spend hours watching these two act gross and sappy, and he should really cut himself off and go home anyway.  
  
The "nah" is on his lips until Cas steps forward and offers Dean a hand up.  
  
"I would really enjoy continuing our conversation." Those earnest blue eyes. How could Dean say anything but yes?  
  
They can be friends, right? This is how people make friends.  
  
"Sure, why not." Dean puts his cigarette out on the step and allows Cas to haul him to standing. Their hands linger.  
  
\--  
  
Golden Gardens is really neither of those two descriptors. Dean is disappointed to learn, as they finally reach the bottom of the hill in the minivan, that "Golden Gardens" should really be called "Dark and Dreary Beach Park." He can't see much, but the parking lot borders a field and some trees. And _holy shit it's cold_ once Cas opens the door. He really wishes he had remembered his coat, but at least he has a flannel.  
  
Meg jumps out of the front seat, and Eve steps from the driver's side after killing the engine. Dean steps out hesitantly, and Ali, Ruby, and Madison scramble out after him.  
  
There's general chatting as they make their way up the sandy path, and Dean falls silently into step with Cas, the only other male there.  
  
Through the trees, Dean can see and hear people around fire pits. There's too many speakers, and it's like flipping through channels as they walk past different groups, following Meg who is run-walking on the sand. She finally greets a short man and goes for the cooler, her pack of girls dissolving into the larger group.  
  
Dean and Cas pull up a few steps behind, and Dean takes in the official-looking metal pit and the many coolers and empty plastic bags around it.  
  
"Hey Cassie!" The same young guy who Meg greeted comes over and gives Cas an overly enthusiastic hug. Cas doesn't move to return it, but the man seems unfazed. "Didn't expect you to stop by!"  
  
"I know better than to argue with Meg's plans," is Cas' reply, and the guy laughs in agreement.  
  
"Who's this?" His gaze turns to Dean, who's been trying to keep on the periphery, uncertain.  
  
"Ah, hi, I'm Dean," Dean says, sticking his hand out.  
  
The other guy walks over and shakes it heartily, replying with only slight slurring, "I'm Gabriel! Gabe. Welcome to our humble bonfire."  
  
Dean nods, a little put-off by Gabe's overwhelming enthusiasm. Maybe the alcohol is finally hitting him after that last beer.  
  
"Don't worry," Cas says to Dean over Gabriel's head. "This is his better setting. When he's high he gets outrageous."  
  
Gabe chuckles, not at all bashful. "Cas, I'm trying to welcome your new person, not scare him off. Get on-board."  
  
As Dean processes, Gabriel wanders off and Dean looks over at Cas, who beckons. They make their way to two empty camping chairs near the fire and sit down. This is a lot better— at least it's warm and relatively calm in this corner.  
  
"So," Dean says as they settle, sand crunching under the chair legs.  
  
"So," Cas parrots, looking into the fire as he leans back.  
  
Dean tries to make conversation, cause that seems to be what he's here to do.  
"So, Cas. What's your major?”  
  
"Biology, vaguely," Cas waves his hand.  
  
"Vaguely?"  
  
"I'm pre-med," Cas intones, looking put-out. "What about your major?"  
  
"Nursing. Looks like we're adjacent."  
  
Cas looks over at Dean, raises his eyebrows slightly.  
  
He guesses that Cas wasn't exactly expecting his response, but Dean's used to that reaction and shrugs. He's surprised himself that Cas isn't something like a Literature major, honestly, but he's not going to say that. "I want to go into pediatrics... what area of medicine are you interested in?"  
  
Meg chooses this moment to plop down on the log next to their chairs and interrupt.  
  
"Oh, Clarence isn't much interested in any part of medicine."  
  
She offers Dean a beer, which he takes with a nod of thanks, and simultaneously puts a cider in Cas' chair's cup holder. Cas turns to glare at her.  
  
"What? You pussyfoot around it, but it's true."  
  
Cas grumbles. "It's not exactly good for casual conversation, _Megara_."  
  
Meg tsks. She turns and looks Dean straight in the face, and says with drunken directness, "Cas' parents want him to be a hotshot doctor, and he's too much of a doormat to say fuck 'em and take his own path."  
  
Cas stands up abruptly, announces that he's going for a walk, and clumps off into the trees.  
  
Meg sighs. After a few moments, it becomes apparent that she isn't going after him. Dean glances at her uncertainly, but she looks straight ahead at the fire.  
  
"Well, thanks for the beer," he says as he wrangles himself out of the sinking chair. Meg's mouth quirks slightly, and Dean counts that as her answer. He takes his beer and Cas' unopened can and heads off in the same direction.  
  
\---

Dean can see Cas' silhouette ahead, walking through a grove of tall, skinny trunks, and he follows him down the sandy path.  
  
It's a struggle to walk quickly on the beach, but Dean manages to catch up once the ground becomes more dirt than sand and the trees become more than twigs.  
  
He hands over the cider to Cas, who takes the can and proceeds to open it with sharp, jerky movements. They walk for a bit in the dark, Cas angrily sipping his drink, while Dean waits him out.  
  
In the end, Dean breaks the silence first. Cas had looked over for a long second in the course of their walk, and Dean had thought he was ready to start talking. Cas had finished his cider, and Dean had thought he would start. Cas had beelined to a driftwood tree trunk, strangely smooth and white and out-of-place in the sparse forest, and when he sat down Dean had thought he would talk.  
  
But he's just been stubbornly silent, playing with his empty can, so after a beat of sitting on the tree together, Dean starts.  
  
"Your girl has some strong opinions on your life, huh," he prods gently, tacking on a conciliatory chuckle.  
  
Castiel stops fiddling with the pull tab. "She's not my _girl_." His voice is surprisingly loud after all that quiet.  
  
"Oh... my bad."  
  
Dean's already lost the beat of conversation and is too buzzed to try to manufacture a new one. It's rather peaceful in this weird beach grove, and he's happy just to sit. Plus Cas doesn't seem very talkative right now, so Dean won't push it.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to still have that lighter on you?" He asks as he digs his smokes back out.  
  
"Certainly." Cas' voice is quieter and calmer this time, melding with the surroundings.  
  
Dean puts a cigarette between his lips and moves for the lighter once it's produced, but Cas ignores his efforts. Instead he reaches up and flicks the lighter near Dean's jaw, leaning in to light it for him. Dean's eyes track the flame, and he inhales— but Cas' face is so close and Dean makes the mistake of looking up. They lock eyes and Dean almost chokes on the smoke in his chest. Thankfully, Cas leans back just as he leaned in—expression unaffected—and Dean can function properly again.  
  
He finally breathes out, as much a sigh as an exhalation of smoke, and looks back over at Cas who is staring at him. The man's eyes move up from his lips to his eyes, and though his expression is the same, Dean senses that the mood has shifted. Maybe not so unaffected as he assumed.  
  
To cover the moment or to extend it, Dean's not sure, he lifts his pack and asks before his brain can process, "Want one?"  
  
Cas is hard to read, especially in the dark, but Dean thinks he's getting better at it. His eyes widen just slightly, his mouth shifts, he sit a little farther back. His eye contact wavers but then snaps back.  
  
"Sure."  
  
Dean has an irrational urge to say "we could share" since he doesn't really want a whole smoke anyway, but instead he dutifully taps one out and hands it to Cas. Cas takes it gingerly, leans forward and cups his hand to light it, his face thrown into sharp light by the flame.  
  
"Yeah?" Dean asks as Cas blows out, seeing his expression.  
  
"It's rougher than I thought it would be," Cas answers.  
  
Dean's brain does a short tangent on the word 'rough' in that voice, before he snaps himself back to present.  
  
"Yeah, sorry, they're a few days open."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Wait, you've never had a cigarette before?"  
  
Cas' mouth quirks at Dean's tone. "No. I mean, I've tried nicotine, but not in this form. There's not much of a culture for it here." He's silent, then takes another puff. "I think I like it."  
  
Dean laughs at the tail end of his own exhalation, deeper than warranted. "Good, that's good," he manages, coughing at the end of the laugh. "Or bad, I guess. Don't like it too much!"  
  
Cas is caught up in the mood, giving a huff and jokingly guarding his stub. "You can't take it from me!"  
  
"Alright, cowboy," Dean laughs. "Guess you can smoke 'em if you already got 'em. But then quit."  
  
They sigh and peter out laughing together, leaving a warm silence. Dean looks down and notices that somehow they've become wedged against each other. It is pretty cold out, though, he reasons; doesn't mean anything.  
  
"This was my dad's brand," Dean says, quieter, attempting a casual tone. He twists his wrist and watches the red pack dance in his hand. "Called 'em cowboy killers, like it was an endorsement."  
  
"You do not strike me as a cowboy," comes Cas' deep, slightly hesitant response.  
  
Dean laughs again, softly. "No?" He returns the pack to his pocket and attempts to steer the conversation to a lighter place before he says anything more about his dad. "Nah, I'm just a social smoker, don't worry. Not enough to hurt."  
  
Even after Dean puts his butt out on the driftwood and turns his eyes back, Cas still doesn't look convinced. Dean doesn't feel judged, though. He considers Cas' expression, and silence, and finds it almost endearing.  
  
"Hey, stop judging me!" Dean elbows him playfully. "You're the one with illegal drugs in your coat pocket!"  
  
Cas regards him, half a smile, and replies faux-snottily, "Weed is legal in Washington, Dean, if you didn't know."  
  
Dean chuckles. "Yeah, if you're 21. Are you 21 yet, Cas?"  
  
Cas' mouth widens to a full-on smile for a second as he puts his cigarette out on his shoe, then sits back up to face Dean as it fades into a lazy half-grin. "My ID says so." He digs into the aforementioned pocket, takes out a small packaged bag and produces a pre-rolled joint, which he then lights. Dean watches curiously as Cas' fingers take the joint from his mouth, and follows the movement as Cas' arm extends towards him.  
  
Dean's eye flick to his face, then back to his hand. What the hell. He takes it as casually as he can and puts it to his lips. The smoke burns, but he’s drunk enough that he can relax into it.  
  
Cas is looking at him, as he seems to do, and quirks his mouth a bit when he takes it back.  
  
"What?"  
  
He smiles a private little smile. "Nothing. It's just cute how you hold it like a cigarette."  
  
"Oh, fuck off," Dean laughs. "And it's cute how you called Marlboro harsh, at least that shit has a filter."  
  
Cas inclines his head, still with a shadow of a smile, and takes his own hit. Dean drags his eyes away from his mouth after too long, and they sit in companionable silence, passing the joint back and forth again.  
  
"My mother calls it the devil's lettuce," Cas says at a random point. "She has all these strange, circuitous names for weed. It's hilarious."  
  
"So that makes you a devil, huh," Dean snorts.  
  
Cas' eyes are mischievous. "She'd probably regret naming me after an angel if she knew."  
  
Dean laughs, again. He can't seem to stop laughing in Cas' company. "A fallen angel and a cowboy."  
  
"An unlikely pair," Cas agrees, looking out at the trees.  
  
"So, what's up with your family? I don't mean to pry, but you should really be allowed to study whatever you want." Dean doesn't mean to, it just comes out. He's worried he's overstepped, but Castiel only sighs.  
  
"My mother wants to see me succeed, and her family has told her the only way I can do that is to become a doctor, lawyer, or CEO. So those are my choices," Cas laughs bitterly, taking a long inhale.  
  
"Man, that's bullshit, I'm sorry," Dean replies. Cas just inclines his head. "What would you study if you could?"  
  
"Plant biology." The answer is almost humorously immediate. "I mean, it's basically my minor if you look at my classes, but my mother will only accept a human biology major and then a prestigious degree from a prestigious medical school from her only son. I'll have to declare soon." He puts on a voice. " _It's fine if you don't want success in life, Castiel, but I will not support some alternative hippy lifestyle if that is the case_."  
  
Dean laughs a little at the caricature, then shakes his head.  
  
"Research and academia are obviously useless as a career path. How alternative," Cas continues snidely.  
  
"You're not alone. I'm sure my old man would be very concerned with my choice of degree too."  
  
"Nursing? But that's an honorable profession."  
  
Dean has a strong urge to tease Cas for that line, but he succeeds in not voicing it.  
  
“Well, honorable or not, he would’ve seen it differently. Probably would’ve kicked me out for half a dozen things I’ve chosen, least of all my degree,” Dean jokes. “Not fitting for his man of a son.”  
  
"You sometimes refer to him in the past tense," Cas replies after a hesitation.  
  
"Yeah. He died a few years back. Car accident."  
  
"Oh," Cas looks at him too intensely. "That must be hard, I'm sorry for bringing it up."  
  
Dean rolls his shoulders. "Don't worry about it, I'm the one who mentioned him in the first place." He tries to change tack. "At least I don't have someone over my shoulder making me be a doctor."  
  
"I do envy you for being able to following your calling."  
  
Dean looks up at him, a little belligerent. "Though it's not like I had the balls to do it while he was alive."  
  
"Even so," Cas says simply.  
  
They sit in silence for a bit.  
  
"Thanks for inviting me along, Cas," Dean finally says.  
  
"Any time."  
  
\---  
  
After they throw their butts in his beer can (at Cas’ insistence) and head out, the walk back to the bonfire is a little more stumble-y than Dean would like to admit. He feels like a bubble has surrounded him and Cas, and they'll float in the same insulated feeling right to the end of the night. Everything’s lagging, but in high definition: the beach shifting strangely beneath his boots, Cas's low laugh, the reflection of the moon he can see on the water. He feels good and, well, high. And a little drunk. But he swears it's the company.  
  
Their old chairs are unsurprisingly occupied when they return, so the pair of them wander around the bonfire. There's so many conversations at once that Dean's not sure he can function, but finally they find a familiar face: Meg, sitting with Ali on an otherwise empty log.  
  
Cas goes first after a slight stutter-step. He sits down next to Meg, and Dean follows. Dean sees him rest his head on her shoulder and Meg mirrors him, resting the side of her head lightly on his crown. After a few seconds they separate and sit back up, all seemingly forgiven.  
  
Dean just watches Cas, the way his hair curls around his ears, and how his eyelashes flutter, eyes still closed when he returns upright. There are no thoughts in Dean's head, exactly, it's just that his gaze is a tunnel on Cas and there's nothing he can do about it.  
  
Cas' eyes are all the way open, after what seems like ages. He turns his head to Dean and shit, he caught him looking... but Dean really doesn't feel bad about it. He gives a lazy smile and then looks over at the fire. And if they lean into each other, if they are the only two mumbling into each other's personal space about Cas' theory on the edges of the sky and _woah watch the fire dance_ , Dean'll chalk it up to the cold. He forgot his jacket at home, after all. He needs to sit close.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean is in a great mood. After he woke up and downed an ibuprofen for the slight pressure on the side of his head, he had time to reflect on what he could remember of the night. He can't pinpoint any one moment that made the night something special, but he can't stop the smile from stealing onto his face every other minute as he makes shitty powdered coffee.  
  
Benny stumbles out of his room, stealing some coffee before Dean can pour his own travel mug. Then he leans against the counter as Dean grabs the pot for himself. He can feel himself looking like a fool, but can't seem to train his face.  
  
"What happened last night that's got you so giddy?" his roommate asks, a teasing suggestion in his tone.  
  
"Nothing like you're thinking," Dean states, schooling his expression and setting down the pot. He takes a sip, and although it tastes horrible, it helps rid Dean of the fuzz in his head. "Anyway, I gotta get to class. You can have the rest of the pot."  
  
Benny does a lazy finger-flick salute as Dean hurries out the door.  
  
\---  
  
He pulls his phone from his pocket as he walks across campus, making sure that it's her lunch time in Kansas and then scrolling to his mother's contact to hit the phone icon.  
  
Short of going to Alaska, Dean had gotten as long a drive as possible away from Lawrence, Kansas. It had taken some work, but after completing his AA in Kansas he has transferred to the University of Washington and hasn't looked back. He loves his mom, but Lawrence wasn't the place for him. Now he makes sure to check back at least once a week, and talk to Sammy when the kid isn't at school.  
  
He hears the click of the answered call right when he hits Red Square, and slows.  
  
"Hey mom," he says distractedly, picking his next steps with care on the slippery brick.  
  
"Hi, Dean," he hears her response over the line. "How's the U of W treating you?"  
  
"It's not— you pronounce it like dub— You know what— it's great, it's fine." Dean skips gracelessly over the topic, knowing Mary is teasing him and it's best not to open that can of worms. "How's the glorious wheat state."  
  
He can hear the smile in her voice when she speaks. "The usual: glorious, wheat-y..." They laugh, and Dean chances a few solid strides across the wet plaza. "The yard needs weeded after work and I'm really missin' your extra pair of hands right about now."  
  
"I see, you only kept me around for free labor," Dean laughs, as Mary interjects "All that food was definitely not free!"  
  
"Just get Sam," Dean continues, halfway across the square by now.  
  
"You know how he is, head-down on his projects and homework. Anyway, enough about me. How was your date with that girl? You never keep me in the loop."  
  
"What date? What girl?"  
  
"The one you study with! I know study dates are a thing, you know. I'm hip."  
  
"What... are you talking about Charlie?" Dean lets out an indignant noise. "Definitely— definitely not a date. Just a study group, swear."  
  
Mary "Mhm"'s over the line and Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
"She's totally gay, Mom, and even if she wasn't I wouldn't be interested."  
  
"Oh, I see," Mary says after the briefest of pauses. Dean feels his stomach flip a little as one of his feet slides on the slick ground and he struggles to keep his balance. He should’ve said she wasn’t his type, or that the date didn’t work out…  
  
"Plus, study dates are definitely not a thing," Dean stutters out, head down as he regains his footing and carefully steps to the end of the square.  
  
"That's what Sam said too, but then he goes and proves I'm right by always inviting Jess over to study. I swear they flirt more than they even look at their homework."  
  
Laughing, Dean walks safely out of the slippery death trap and onto more solid ground. "Good for him, but that also sounds painful to witness."  
  
"It's worse than you can imagine. If he keeps pretending he doesn't understand his homework to get her to help, she's going to think he's actually dumb."  
  
\---  
  
As he sits down in the lecture hall, waiting for his next class to start, Dean plays with a thought. After that conversation with Mary... He doesn't have Cas' number, but he does have his email...  
  
He writes the invitation and sends it before his mind can convince him not to. Hopefully Cas is the type to check his email frequently. Not that Dean's looking forward to seeing him again so soon, or anything.  
  
\---  
  
**To:** castielnovak@uw.edu  
**From:** deanw96@uw.edu  
**Subject:** study group?  
  
\---

Dr. Mosley is a fascinating speaker, but Dean can't seem to pay attention today. He half-hopes Castiel doesn't reply, because he just realized a “yes” means Dean will have to interact with his friends around Cas and that sounds like it could be a minefield. Better that Cas doesn't see the email in time. Less nerve-wracking all around. Less potential for teasing. Best thing for everyone.

\---  
  
**From:** castielnovak@uw.edu  
**To:** deanw96@uw.edu  
**Subject:** RE: study group?  
  
\---

The Company  
  
**Dean:** so heads up I invited my friend cas to study group today  
**  
**★♡♛✰Bradburn✰♛♡★: Coolio!!  
  
**Katniss Tran:** That means you have to buy today's coffee, though.  
  
**Dean:** on it  
  
**★♡♛✰Bradburn✰♛♡★:** But like, your friend Cas or your Friend Cas? Do I need to wear my interrogation jacket...  
  
**Dean:** shut up Char no interrogating  
  
**★♡♛✰Bradburn✰♛♡★:** .....okay I'm wearing it  
  
\---  
  
Shit. Why did he think this was a good idea, again?  
  
\---  
  
Cas comes in the door of the library just as Dean is putting his bag down. Dean rushes to the door of the group room and waves him over silently but enthusiastically. Cool down, Winchester.  
  
“Hey,” Dean greets softly as he closes the door, Cas in the act of walking to the table and putting down his coat. “Sorry for the last-minute invite.”  
  
“Thank you for the last-minute invite,” Cas responds, and oh wow, Dean had forgotten about his voice.  
  
“No problem,” he mumbles out, going to his own seat and trying not to knock it over as he attempts to sit down.  
  
“So, before they get here, I want to let you know about my friends. I should warn you about Charlie—”  
  
As if summoned, Dean hears the door push open and has a second to brace himself before he gets aggressively hugged. It’s impressive, really, since he’s sitting and also currently has his back to her, but apparently Charlie can execute a hug in any context.  
  
“Hi!” she says cheerily, patting Dean’s head as she turns to Cas. “I’m Charlie. You must be Dean’s new friend.”  
  
“Castiel,” Cas says, reluctantly returning her hug.  
  
Kevin joins them then, shouldering through the door with his gigantic backpack.  
  
“Hey, Kevin, you’re late to the party,” Dean says as Charlie digs out her computer.  
  
“I’m not late, I’m exactly on time. Somehow, you’re all early.” He rushes hurriedly to the fourth seat and puts down the books in his arms.  
  
“A miracle,” Charlies says, rolling her eyes. She grabby-hands in Dean’s direction, and he passes out the coffees and Top Pot donuts.  
  
Kevin nods at Castiel. “Hi. So, how do we want to do this? Normally we all take notes on the chapters before…”  
  
Kevin explains their format as Castiel listens seriously. Dean is enjoying just watching his profile, but then Charlie catches his gaze and mouths, “This is going to be so much fun.”  
  
Son of a bitch.  
  
\---  
  
Charlie is a force to be reckoned with on any day, but today is exceptional; she just won’t stop pushing. After the latest subtle drop that she’s gay, and a lot of people she knows are gay, and that they always seem to clump in the same friend groups, Dean’s just about had enough. Usually he’s the one joking around, so focusing so much is strange, but anything to get Charlie back on the topic of paradoxical inheritance. His stomach was already roiling at the beginning of the meeting, thank you very much, and she is not helping it settle.  
  
“Coffee break,” he announces 40 minutes in.  
  
“But we’ve already finished our coffee,” Kevin replies. “We don’t need a break.”  
  
“Okay, piss break, smoke break, water break,” Dean shoots back, standing up. “Take your pick. _I_ need a break.”  
  
Castiel stands up as well, rolling his neck. Across the table, Charlie shoots Dean a significant look and a smile.  
  
“He’s right, let’s come back in 15. I’ll get a snack!”  
  
“But you just ate three donuts,” Dean teases her. “I don’t need you even more hyper.”  
  
“Then you should’ve provided sugar-free, filling snacks, poor Dean.” She flounces out of the room towards the vending machines and Dean smiles, shaking his head.  
  
He gives Cas an eye roll and then follows Char’s lead out the room, his insides warming when he hears Castiel on his heels.  
  
“I assume she’s always like that, and it’s not really the fault of the sugar?” Castiel asks once they’re at the vending machine. Charlie’s already departed, snack in hand.  
  
Dean laughs. “Yeah, that’s Charlie. It’s either a personality trait or else she’s been hyped up on sugar and caffeine since I met her.” He retrieves a bottle of water from the machine’s slot.  
  
“I like her,” Cas states, feeding his cash to the machine and picking out a granola bar. “Though I do feel like she’s been not-so-subtly begging me to come out for the past hour.”  
  
Dean almost chokes on his water, laughing. “Sorry about that. She interrupted me before I could warn you how intense she gets.”  
  
Cas smiles in forgiveness.

“Anyway, I’m gonna head for a quick smoke,” Dean says over his shoulder.  
  
Surprisingly, Cas follows him with an “I’ll come.”  
  
Dean walks out of the library, holds the door for Cas, and leads the way to the nearest smoking area. He feels rather self-conscious with a guest, but they fall into easy conversation as they walk, and in only a few minutes they’re chatting away as they sit down in the designated area.  
  
Cas watches him light up without comment, instead continuing the conversation about Green Day, listening intently to Dean’s view on rock operas.  
  
Dean doesn’t realize he’s been fiddling with his Zippo, spinning it between thumb and forefinger, until Cas reaches over and touches his wrist.

“May I?”

Dean stills, and lies the lighter flat on his palm, not offering it over but still letting Cas see the engraved side.  
  
_J. Winchester_. Underneath, a United States Marine Corps seal.  
  
“My dad’s,” Dean says, by way of explanation. “John.”  
  
Cas traces a circle over the engraving, then takes his hand back and continues talking as if nothing has happened. Dean curls his fingers into a fist around the lighter, letting it rest out of sight for the remainder of their break.  
  
\---  
  
That Novak Boy (the name Charlie has programmed into Dean’s phone) becomes a permanent fixture at their study group, joining them on Wednesdays, too, once they find out he shares another class with Kevin. They all exchange numbers, and Cas joins the group chat. He’s surprisingly the best at keeping the group on track without earning any resentment. Or perhaps not very surprisingly; the more time Dean spends around him, the more he can see Cas’ serious side, and the more he wonders how this kid is the same one he met who was hungover in class.  
  
As if to remind Dean, Cas still invites him to parties. So far Dean has declined them all. Something had come up every time, either he had a paper due to next day or he was supposed to call his mom or he was really tired— all excuses. He knows that he either shuts down or gets emotional while drunk, and neither of those are particularly fun to imagine in Castiel’s presence. He’s still vaguely embarrassed when he thinks about their interaction at the bonfire. Instead, he sees Cas at study group and sometimes for lunch, and keeps him at a friendly distance.  
  
After three invitations, Cas seemed to give up. That’s why when he asks the fourth time, three weeks after the first party, Dean says yes on impulse. He feels the worry in his stomach start, until he sees how happy Cas’ eyes are, and decides it’s worth it. He doesn’t know why he’s been so distant, anyway. Cas has become his friend, and it’s not like he’s not going to judge Dean for getting drunk at a party he’s invited him to. That’s college, and Cas’ scene.  
  
Fuck it, it’ll be fun.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean is flopped on his bed, several different shirts laid out around him on the duvet. He sighs again, restless, and hears a knock on his door. From the rhythm he knows it’s Benny. Trying to gather composure by staring at the ceiling, he mutters, “Come in!”  
  
Benny does just that, closing the door and leaning back on it.  
  
“What’s got you in such a twist?”  
  
“Nothing,” Dean says, trying not to sound like a petulant child and mostly succeeding.  
  
“Pauvre bête,” Benny says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been hearing you abuse the hangers in your closet for 20 minutes, but sure, it’s nothin’.”  
  
“I’m just not sure what to wear. I mean, it’s cold out but it’ll be warm inside, but I don’t have any sweaters…” The more Dean talks, the more like a whiny teeanger he feels, so he shuts up. It’s not like he hasn’t dressed for this situation a million times before.  
  
Benny chuckles, walking closer and picking through the clothing options around Dean. “Aren’t you a bit old for worrying about house parties? Or going to house parties?” One of the shirts must pass muster, because he picks it up and walks over to open Dean’s dresser.  
  
“First of all, I’m a young, underaged 20-year-old.” Dean drags himself to sitting as he addresses the back of Benny. “Second, I never got to do any sort of stereotypical college stuff at community college, so I gotta make up for lost time. And third, I’m not even worried.”  
  
“I didn’t realize we were playing two truths and a lie,” Benny shoots over his shoulder.  
  
“Oh, fuck off.”  
  
Benny turns around, eyebrow raised and holding a pile of clothes. “Here, take this, Mr. I-don’t-own-a-sweater.”  
  
Dean takes it with distaste. “This is… I don’t know where this came from or what it is—”  
  
“A cardigan,” Benny supplies.  
  
“—but I do know that I’m not wearing it.”  
  
Benny looks unimpressed, but turns back to the dresser, then walks over to the closet.

“This.” He hands Dean a bomber jacket that’s been neglected in the back of his closet. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”  
  
\---  
  
A wolf whistle answers Dean as he steps out from his room, begrudgingly wearing what Benny picked. He has to admit that he doesn’t look half-bad, even if he looks like a 45-year-old trying to be hip. Whatever.  
  
He joins his roomie in the kitchen-slash-dining room, setting the table while Benny takes a smoking pot of something off the stove.  
  
“So how’s Andrea?” Dean asks as they eat.  
  
“She asked if we could open our relationship,” Benny replies.  
  
“Oh, wow. And?”  
  
“Never gonna happen. What about your love life?” Benny asks. “Who’s all this worrying for?”  
  
Dean sighs. “My friend Cas invited me to pre-party with his group. I’m just worried he’ll think I’m boring when we’re sober.”  
  
Benny considers. “Isn’t this the guy who’s been coming to your study group for weeks?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s him.”  
  
“So unless y’all been doing some weekly day-drinking, I think he’s had quite enough time to find you interesting while sober.”  
  
Dean eats a spoonful of gumbo aggressively. “That’s different. I don’t need to be interesting to study with.”  
  
Benny sighs, mouth twisting into a smile. “Brother, you are really wrapped around the axle for this boy.”  
  
“It’s not like that,” Dean says with a glare.  
  
Benny stares back, eyebrows questioning.  
  
“Okay maybe it’s a little like that. But,” Dean sighs. “I don’t know. I just feel a little out of my depth, man.”  
  
“You don’t need to tell me,” Benny says as Dean picks up their empty bowls and retreats to the kitchen. “Just be your charmin’ self and you’ll have no problems.”  
  
Yeah, yeah. Dean shakes his head and puts his game face on. He’s got this. Right after he washes the dishes.  
  
\---

Finding Cas’ place isn’t too hard, and there are already people there when he arrives. Thankfully, Cas greets him at the door and claims him so that he doesn’t get lost in the group, then leads him into the kitchen to get him something to drink.  
  
“So remind me of tonight’s plan.”  
  
“Well, Gabe heard that there might be a house party down the hill, and Meg is seeing if one of her Sisters gets back to her with details of another option. Basically, we’re going with the flow.”  
  
Dean nods, taking a swig of beer and just watching Cas. Then, put off by the stare Cas gives him in turn, he looks out at the rest of the group who are splayed over the couch and chairs. He watches what looks like a game of Never Have I Ever (what is this, high school?) and Gabe pretending to be a bartender. The group is small, but rowdy enough that he’d rather be over here.  
  
“I can’t believe they’re playing Never Have I Ever.”  
  
Cas smirks a little, taking a sip from his cup. “Well, they’re not very creative in their drinking games.”  
  
“You say that like you are.”  
  
Cas gives him a coy look. “No, I was going to suggest truth or dare.”  
  
Dean laughs.  
  
Talking with Cas is easy, and times flies by as they loiter in the kitchen.  
  
Before long Meg has emerged as the winner—or loser?—of Never Have I Ever, all her fingers down and lots of alcohol presumably in her system. Across the room they see her jump up, declare an end to the game, and come to find Cas.  
  
“We’ve decided it’s food time. Hopefully I’ll hear from Madison by the time we’re done.”

Cas nods and everyone packs out the door in various states of drunkness. Dean watches, amused, then follows Cas as the last one out.

…

The Ave is officially named University Way NE, which gave Dean some trouble when he first moved to Seattle. A thoroughfare packed with shops and restaurants and coffee shops, it’s stereotypically a college hangout, but more realistically a homeless hangout. Still, Dean is interested to have the excuse to hang on the Ave and see what it’s like, even if he’s in a tipsy group of loud and obnoxious college kids.

After spotting friends who are already there, the group fills out a booth at a small Mediterranean place. Cas makes introductions to those Dean hasn't met yet as they loiter next to the table.  
  
“This is Dean. Dean— Megan, Lydia, Ash.”

Dean gives all three an extra charming smile as a force of habit. Of the three, Lydia gives him a flirty look in reply before going back to drinking her Coke.  
  
From the other side of Cas, Meg makes her presence known. “Well now that everyone’s here, let’s go get some food.”  
  
Having sat down last, Dean is the first back up. He loiters as everyone files out of the booth, and Cas waits with him, then as Dean turns to follow the group— “Let’s wait for them to order, it’ll take forever.”  
  
Dean sits back down, feeling like he’s in whack-a-mole. “I already ate, anyway.”  
  
Cas smiles. “Me too, but we’re stocking up for later. Plus, they have great gyros so I can’t resist eating two dinners.”  
  
Dean smiles, but doesn't get any farther than that before Meg comes sneaking back to the table.

“Madison just texted. She has invites for the three of us, so I assume everyone here can crash it as well.” She leans against the table a little unsteadily, but her voice is clear and steady. “Let’s kick off Fall break in style!”  
  
\---  
  
Dean’s at an honest-to-god house party. It’s like he never left Kansas.  
  
Well, sort of. He went to the occasional party and kickback at home, hanging out in his friends’ basements in high school or going to a birthday party that got rowdy. But he tried to keep up on his studies and set a good example for Sam, so those experiences were over several scattered weekends. In college back home, it was all he could do to study his ass off in addition to working. Sure, he’s no recluse, but since moving to a campus he feels like he can officially be a college student. It makes him grin.  
  
Dean sees Meg playing Rage Cage with abandon, an impressive stack of cups being passed around. Gabe is over there, on a table for some reason, putting on a great lip-syncing show. Finally there’s Cas in the corner, pouring drinks and chatting with some other kid. Dean’s about to go meet him, but is dragged off by Cas’ friends—Dean’s new friends—to fill out a pong game.  
  
He can’t tell if his team is winning, thanks to all the crazy added rules, but he does know that he hasn’t had to chug punch in quite a bit, and for that he’s grateful. Or maybe it was only a few minutes… he can’t really judge the passage of time right now. Anyway, he’s probably in the lead.  
  
As he watches the opposite side of the table rearrange their cups, he feels the back of a hand on his elbow. He turns to find Cas trying to keep two cups upright and smiles. Cas is here!  
  
Not as gracefully as he would like, he bends to Cas’ ear to ask something or other, and accidentally ends up cheek to cheek. He jolts back to a safer distance.  
  
“Sorry. What’s that?” Dean yells over the music, indicating Cas’ cups.  
  
“Rum and coke.” Cas looks amused and takes it upon himself to step even closer, leaning up to Dean’s ear. “Where have you been for the past half hour?”  
  
Even without the alcohol in his system, Dean’s not sure he could answer without stuttering. He takes a step back and instead dazedly takes his shot for punch pong, missing the table by a mile. When he steps back, Cas is still there, reaching around him to put the new drink in his hand. Dean doesn’t protest, just takes a sip and watches the other team sink his side’s last cup.  
  
Alright, so they weren’t in the lead. But Dean barely notices or cares, because Cas has a hand on his shoulder and is moving him away from the table. Well, maybe he’s supporting him more than leading him, but either way…  
  
They end up in another, quieter room, falling onto a couch in the corner; something animated and annoying is playing on the television. Dean takes a sip of his drink, grateful for the time to recompose himself. Someone is heckling Cas and Cas responds in kind, their banter a background to Dean taking stock of the situation. Him and Cas, on their own small couch, in a dark corner. Everything he’d wanted and dreaded when he thought about what might happen at this party, and he’s not sure he can handle it.

 

 

Before Dean can freak out too much, Cas stands again and gestures to him. With a nod, Dean rises and follows Cas to the other group, joining the half-circle of people on the floor and couch. A few people are passing around a bong, and Cas nudges one of them, claiming it for himself and taking a hit. Dean just watches, time in slow motion. He knows how ridiculous his thoughts are right now, but he also can’t seem to control them, or give a shit. Cas looks really, really good— his shirt isn’t quite covering his midriff from when he sat down, and without a jacket he’s surprisingly fit, and his hair shouldn’t look good in that state but it does, and his mouth shape right now is giving Dean very bad ideas.  
  
Cas blows the smoke out, his head tilted back, and the curve of his neck— Dean really needs to stop looking.  
  
Cas doesn’t offer it to him, for which Dean is grateful, just passes the bong along. Before he knows it, Dean has a cigarette out and has already snapped his lighter shut. He has an irrational moment when he almost asks if it’s okay to smoke here.  
  
In an uncoordinated, intimate way, Cas takes the lighter from Dean’s hand and looks it over. It takes his brain longer than normal to register that he doesn’t let other people touch that one, but he needn’t have worried because Cas hands it right back.  
  
“I’m bored,” says some girl on the couch, and mutes the TV.  
  
“You’re always bored, Megan,” says Cas’ friend with a mullet. “But whatever, what do ya wanna do?”  
  
“I don’t know, Ash, a game or something.”

“I’ve got some cards somewhere around here, I think…” He rummages in the shelves under the TV. “Here.”

Cas catches it when Ash tosses the deck in the direction of the group.

“Texas hold ‘em?” Dean suggests, jokingly.

Cas takes the suggestion and runs with it. “Strip Texas hold ‘em.”

Dean flushes, but the group has already warmed up to the idea.

“Strip or take a hit.” Megan adds from the couch. “Or drink.”

“Sounds good.” Ash christens the game, sets a few rules, and they’re off.

The first round goes fast. Dean’s in it to win it, so he folds his crap hand and takes a drink. Cas and Megan also fold after the flop, take their respective punishments, and it’s just Lydia and Ash who play on. Lydia ends up winning, and Ash takes off his socks, to the protests of those present. Not very remarkable.

Lydia smiles at Dean, flushed with winning, and starts dealing. He can see Cas glaring in the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t look over.

Dean wins the next round, but everyone’s folded before him so he feels like that doesn’t count.

The next game is a little more involved. Dean stays in to test his luck, and the flop looks good for his chances. Megan folds. An 8 of spades is next, and Lydia grimaces, folding. Dean folds on the river. Cas and Ash reveal their cards, and Cas is the loser. He doesn’t look too sad about it, though, as he strips off his shirt rather slower than necessary. Dean can’t help but look over, and he quickly looks away. If Cas is trying to distract him, it’s succeeding.

“Wait,” says Ash, “you too, Dean.”

“What?”

“Your hand was better than mine, but you folded. That means you gotta strip, too.”

Dean looks back at it. He’s right, both of the showdown hands are horrible. Either they’re really bad at poker or trying to lose. He glares at Ash.

“I don’t make the rules, man,” he laughs, conveniently ignoring the fact that he did make the rules.

But it’s no skin of Dean’s nose, he just takes off his jacket and cocks an eyebrow.

“So, can we keep playing?”

The game is pretty short lived, though; Megan gets bored again and Ash turns the TV’s sound back on. Cas seems a bit miffed, but he doesn't voice anything.

Lydia sets up camp next to Dean, leaning into him slightly. He turns instead to the left, towards Cas.  
  
Dean holds his lit cigarette out, and Cas takes it wordlessly, gaze held. He inhales, exhales, and Dean almost burns himself taking it back because his eyes are caught.  
  
The bong is passed back around, and thankfully Cas breaks the staring contest to hit it again. Dean looks at the glass contraption, his drunken brain thanking it—  
  
Are contact highs real? Cause this room is not well-ventilated, and Dean is feeling something or other— less heady than the cigarette, something in the area of his chest. Cas’ eyes are back on him, and the light from the TV makes them shine…  
  
He doesn’t know how, but somehow, they’re back on the other couch, in each other's space. It’s quieter, it’s darker, and Dean is thankful. He nudges Cas.  
  
“Sorry for disappearing earlier. I’m glad you found me.”  
  
Cas just looks, and looks. “How glad?”  
  
It seems like a trap, but Dean’s quite alright with falling for it. “Very.” He leans forward and for an instant he’s not sure that Cas is leaning too, —a long instant of second-guessing himself, —until finally their lips touch and—  
  
“Hey! Cas!”  
  
Dean jerks back as if he's been burned, letting Cas turn around and answer the offending voice.  
  
“What?” He sounds annoyed, Dean thinks absently.  
  
“You need to bring Meg home, she’s getting out of hand.”  
  
Cas looks at Dean apologetically, and sighs. He mumbles something to Dean that he can’t make out, so he shakes his head to indicate he doesn’t know.  
  
“Be right there,” Cas shouts towards the door, and goes over to where his shirt is, tugging it on. He looks back at Dean and gives a small wave, then disappears out of the room.  
  
Dean isn’t sure if Cas is gonna return, and he’s not sure if maybe Cas had asked him if he needed help home, and Dean had said no. He knocks his head backwards to rest on the wall, and sits staring at the ceiling for a few minutes. Then he goes over to the group on the other couch to figure out his way to his dorm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Dean:**  Made it home safe. Let me know that you did too

  
\---

Thanksgiving dawns with a killer headache.  
  
“Happy Thanksgiving, mom.”  
  
Dean is lying flat on his back, hoping that will keep the nausea at bay and out of his voice. Thankfully he wasn’t far from his dorm last night, and made it home, even if he doesn’t exactly remember the whole walk.  
  
“Happy Thanksgiving, hon. We miss you.” Shuffling on the line. “Here, talk to Sammy while I take this out of the oven.”  
  
He had made it home safe, and sent Cas a text saying as much. Seen.  
  
Dean hears a muffled, “It’s Sam,” and smiles.  
  
“Hey, Sammy, how’s it going?”  
  
Sam huffs. “Sam. And it’s fine. We’re over with Ellen and Bobby and everyone. And there’s pie,” he draws out, teasing in his voice.  
  
Dean laughs. “Well, save a piece for me!”  
  
“Sure, you can eat it at Christmas.”  
  
“Good. Though, you know I’m not coming back for Christmas, right? It’s too expensive.”  
  
“Yeah. Happy Turkey Day,” he hears before the phone is passed quickly back to Mary.  
  
“Hey hon, it was nice to hear from you. Don’t go crazy, buy yourself some good food somewhere, alright? Love you.”  
  
“Bye, Mom.”  
  
Dean sighs and clicks off. Checks his text notifications. Still no reply.  
  
\---

 **Dean:** Hey hows it going? Happy Thankgiving

  
\---

  
Dean stares at the "Seen at 3:51pm" underneath his second to last sent text, and the tiny little word "Delivered" underneath his latest. Not only did Cas not reply to his texts, he even stopped opening them.  
  
With a sigh, Dean throws his phone onto the bed and resolves to stop acting like a little girl. He’s overthinking it, anyway; people get busy, and he can deal with it. It’s Thanksgiving, after all, and Cas’ family lives nearby. Maybe he's already celebrating with them. The silence doesn't mean anything.

Dean flops onto the bed, thankful his nausea is gone, and retrieves his phone. He unlocks it and backs out of Castiel’s text screen, to the rest of his texts. There’s a new one at the top. Random number, but the text says “Lydia :) xx”. God, he doesn’t remember giving her his number at all… his stomach sours even further and he exits the app, resolving to put the whole night out of his mind.

He mindlessly scrolls through social media, liking a photo here and there in a bid to distract himself. It’s almost succeeded, thoughts of last night far from his mind, until he sees that little green dot next to one Castiel Novak.  
  
Fuck.

His carefully constructed excuses for Cas’ silence (his battery died, or he has a phone interview, or he dropped his phone when getting into a car, accidentally stepped on it, and then kicked it into the drain where it got eaten by raccoons) shatter. Though he’s not going to sit here feeling sorry for himself, he has to acknowledge that Castiel is definitely on his phone, and ignoring him.  
  
He knew this was too good to become anything, that he fucked up and Cas is just figuring out the best way to tell him it’s over before it’s began. Just study buddies, thanks.  
  
Or—and Dean can't tell if this is better or worse—maybe Cas doesn't remember their almost-kiss last night. Dean doesn’t know what to do about that.  
  
Bring, briiing!  
  
Noise from the apartment bell interrupts Dean’s stewing.  
  
He intends to lie there and let Benny get it, since he’s not expecting anyone, but then he remembers Benny’s with Andrea for Thanksgiving. Sighing, he leaves the bed and walks to the door. He clicks on the intercom.

“Yes?”

A deep voice comes through the speaker. “Dean?”

It’s Cas. Speak of the freaken devil. Dean rests his head against the door. Why is he here? To have this awkward conversation in person? Why— to see the look on Dean’s face? Or maybe to continue what they started last night? He clicks Cas in, and his heart gets a nice workout as he waits for the man to reach his floor.

The knock on his door comes a few minutes later just as he’s got his second foot in a pair of jeans, his sweats discarded on the floor.

“One sec!” he yells, and makes his way to the door.

He opens it— and is greeted by not to a happy Cas, or an awkward one, or a flirty one. Cas’ eyes are puffy and his nose is red; he’s obviously been crying even if he isn't currently. The mood is distraught and Dean instantly discards his earlier anxiety, ushering Cas in and sitting him on the couch.

“Cas! What’s going on?”

“Hello, Dean.” He realizes his hand is still on Cas’ shoulder, and takes it off.

“Hey there,” he replies cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

Cas huffs a watery laugh, looking down at his hands and slouching back into the couch.

“Not particularly.”

Normally Dean would wait, hoping the silence was welcoming if the person wanted to continue. But he knows Cas can win any silence contest, so instead he prods, “What’s got you so upset?”

Cas nods slightly, but takes a bit to start talking.

Slowly it comes out, Cas’ voice gaining speed and strength as he continues. He parodies the voices with only a slight change in inflection, but Dean catches on and follows the story.

He had been celebrating Thanksgiving with his family as Dean had theorized. An affair for the whole extended family, it was always stressful, but it was important to his mother that he be there. The very early dinner had passed easily as Cas could sink into the background of chatter, seated as he was with his younger cousins. It was over dessert that things went south.

Castiel had taken the chance to escape to the kitchen and help with making the whipped cream (making the whipped cream? What was this family?) when his uncle asked him about his schooling.

Zachariah had never been his favorite uncle. “Like a fat Scrooge” Cas said, and Dean had to chuckle. He had answered, curtly, about his tests and essays. But like a cat after cream, Zach kept up the questions, asking his major as they brought out the pies and accompaniments.

‘Biology,’ his grandmother Naomi purred from across the table. “On his way to med school.” The smile she had given him had made him distinctly claustrophobic, and lent him the courage to say, ‘Actually…’

His side of the table paused.

‘Actually, I recently declared my major in plant biology.’

His mother rushed in, ‘Well, I’ve read many pieces of advice that say a diverse major is not a hindrance to med school applications, if you still have the knowledge base and discuss the reason in interviews.’ She had smiled as well, a strained grimace under the eyes of her family.

Naomi had harrumphed but seemed to swallow it, until Cas continued.

‘That would be interesting, Mother, if I planned on applying to med school.’ Dean was proud to hear how cooly Cas had forced the topic.

That had, obviously, not gone over as well. What was he supposed to do with that degree? Research, he replied. Most likely grad school or further. Teaching, maybe.

Pandemonium.

“‘What would your grandfather think?’” Cas mocks, uncharacteristically animated in his story-telling. “‘As he’s dead, I doubt he’s thinking anything’ was my reply, which was when they really got angry.” He laughs weakly, the graveness sneaking back into his demeanor.

“My mom tried to calm them down, which is when they turned on her too.”

The aunts had continued their shrill chatter about insolence, when Lucas came in with a pointed, ‘He really does take after you, Muriel. Next he’s gonna be running off with the neighborhood boy, too.”

Cas’ mouth does the shadow of a smirk. “That was too perfect an opportunity not to come out to the whole family. Might as well get it all over with, you know? Rip off the bandaid and then burn down the house.”

He describes Naomi as a “squawking mess” as he gets back into the story, and Dean can’t stop from chuckling a little at that image.

The personal insults started, in stage whispers and direct confrontation, and Cas had had enough. He got his stuff and was headed out when something stuck in his ear.

“None of them ever talk about my father,” Cas says, voice low. “And I stopped asking after I was told I was born from a sperm donor. It’s a strange answer now that I think about it but I didn’t question it as a child. But when they started making jabs about it, Naomi said his name.”

Dean sits still. This sounds like a revelation, and the air hangs heavy with the weight of it. Cas’ brow is furrowed.  
  
“May I use your computer?” Castiel asks out of nowhere, and Dean nods on impulse.  
  
“‘Course.”  
  
Cas takes the laptop to the couch, opening it with a mad ferocity and typing in Dean’s password, then bringing up Google.  
  
“Hey, what the hell?” Dean comes and sits next to him on the couch. “How do you know my password?”  
  
“You type it next to me every study session. ‘Winchester’ is a horrible password and you should create a stronger one.” Cas side-eyes him seriously.  
  
“But then how would you break into my computer?” Dean teases, trying to lighten the mood.  
  
Cas doesn't respond, focusing intently on the screen. After a second of hesitation, Dean caves and reads over his shoulder.  
  
_Search results for: Charles Shurley washington state_  
  
Dean watches as Castiel opens several links in new tabs, searching through a knockoff White Pages and a few genealogy sites. It looks like there’s a few _Charles Shirley_ s in Washington, but no _Shurley_ s. Next he brings up Facebook and does another futile search. Dean can feel his restless energy next to him, and isn’t surprised when Cas removes the laptop from his lap and abandons it beside him in frustration.  
  
“I’m no good at this. How am I supposed to find him?”  
  
“I don’t know. All you know’s his name? Are you sure he lives in Washington?”  
  
“Just the name,” Cas grits out. “If that’s even right.”  
  
“Well I’m shit at internet searches too, but I don’t think Google is really going to help us here.”  
  
“Then what do you propose?” Cas says, angrier than Dean has ever seen him.  
  
“Ask Charlie, hacker extraordinaire.”  
  
Cas pauses in his anger, sitting back into the couch.  
  
“I don't know… involving more people makes me uncomfortable.”  
  
“It’s not like she has to know any details. I can just ask her to find this guy, and not tell her anything else.”  
  
Cas sighs. “No, I don't want to be disingenuous with a friend.”  
  
Dean feels just a little happy that Cas considers Charlie a friend, but he refocuses.  
  
“She’s not gonna judge you or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  
  
Cas nods, seemingly more in reassurance to himself than in answer to what Dean’s said.  
  
“And I can set up a way for you to ask her that’s a bit more private than study group.”  
  
Cas nods again, with conviction. “That sounds agreeable. Thanks, Dean.”  
  
Dean smiles. “No worries.” He has an idea. “Hey, you mentioned you skipped out before eating dessert? I was reading about this pie place up near Woodland Park if you didn’t have anything else to do today…” he trails off.

“A la Mode? I love that place.”  
  
During the course of Cas’ story it had become clear that he needs a friend, not some creep who crushes on him from up close, so Dean’s resolved to be just a friend. And what a friend needs right now is a distraction. But then he worries that is verging into date territory, and pulls back.  
  
“It’s kinda far on the bus, but it looks like they deliver.” Dean grins at Cas’ expression. “Happy Thanksgiving.”  
  
“Happy Thanksgiving, Dean.”  
  
\---

The chance to ask Charlie comes fairly quickly after Thanksgiving break, when study group afternoon turns into ‘show Cas a million necessary movies’ night.  
  
“Of course I’ll find him! Anything you need help with, you just ask, okay? I’m all for using my powers for the greater good.”  
  
Dean sees Charlie elbow Cas where they sit on the couch. He’s given them some time while he tinkered around in the kitchen with Kevin, but now he comes back out with the lovingly buttered popcorn he managed to make without burning the pot. They both totally needed to stand over it and make sure it didn’t burn for the whole time it was cooking, i.e. give Castiel some privacy to talk to Charlie.  
  
“You nerds done talking about Charlie’s hacking ‘powers’?”

Kevin takes the corner chair while Dean wedges his way onto the couch and sets the bowl on Cas’ lap. “You’re in the middle, you man the snacks. Careful of her, though, she’s a food thief.”  
  
“I can’t resist your homemade popcorn and you know that, Dean! I know you made extra.”  
  
Cas just looks amused, and thankfully less tense than he did when he sat down to ask Charlie’s help.  
  
Dean grabs the remote and pushes play on the movie.  
  
“Now, let the miseducation of Castiel Post begin.”  
  
Charlie almost chokes on her popcorn, barking out, “You told me you didn’t watch that movie!”  
  
“Dean, I don’t understand th—”  
  
He shushes them. “Both of you just shut up and watch.”  
  
The opening scene’s already started, clocks ticking, but Castiel looks sullen and Dean can’t have that. He leans closer and whispers, “Don’t worry, we'll watch that one next.” And if Dean stays that way, half leaning on Cas for the rest of _Back to the Future_ , well, that’s just the position he needs to be in to reach the popcorn.  
  
\---  
  
Life continues, an endless round of sleeping, class, studying, eating, and generally staying holed up inside because of the weather. He sees Cas frequently, and sometimes they hang out outside of study group, as well. Just the two of them doing flash cards or having lunch at Dean’s place. It's a comfortable routine, not least because Cas is always fun and interesting to be around.

Right now it's nighttime, a chilly Washington dusk that finds them turning on the heat, traveling in coats. Dinner was pasta, easy, but still with enough personal flair that Cas’ complements had made Dean’s face red. Now they're in the back alley of Dean’s place, hanging out with the garage and recycling cans, smoking and talking.

“That is extremely bad for you, you know.” Cas has never before lectured Dean on his cigarette habit, so Dean's not offended; he's right, anyway.

“Yet another bad habit I learned from my father.” Dean grins and Cas lets the conversation fade that easily.

The sky is almost purple, the horizon never quite fading to black in this city. Dean’s gone through a few cigarettes; Cas on the other hand is holding back and only intermittently taking hits from his pipe, sporadically offering it to Dean.

They're not really leaning against each other, but Dean’s close enough to feel Cas’ body heat. It makes him feel safe.

“What's it like growing up in Seattle, where you can't even see the stars at night?”

Dean has his head tilted back trying to find pinpricks of light, but looks over at Cas as he speaks.

Cas looks thoughtful. “Well, I never really thought about it until I went somewhere where the stars were noticeable, and I realized what was missing.” He turns sideways towards Dean. “Did you grow up with the stars?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, looking into Cas’ eyes as they catch only the faintest glimmer of reflected light. “Mostly I did.”

Cas looks away again, up to the sky.

“It's good enough, sometimes,” he says. “Discovery, for instance. You can see the stars in that park, even find a few constellations. Still not as good as when I drove to the Oregon desert, though. So many stars that I couldn't believe they all existed behind Seattle’s layers of light pollution.”

“Yeah. Sounds beautiful,” Dean replies distractedly. “Just something I was thinking about. I'm used to the stars. I miss ‘em sometimes, is all. Stupid, right?”

“Not at all.” Cas blows out a breath of smoke. “But they're still out there, even if you can't see them now.”

Dean laughs. “And here I thought you were gonna hit me with a ‘the stars we see could be long dead’ spiel.”

Cas looks back quizzically. “No. I'd rather focus on other aspects, wouldn't you?”

“I guess so.” Dean grins.

They sit in silence for another few minutes, looking up at the mostly blank sky. Dean sees an airplane blink past, and is almost ready to call an end to it and head inside when Cas speaks again.

“It's funny.” Cas is staring right at him. “You grew up with a loving family, right? For the most part. And yet you're still so emotionally reserved.”

Dean's a bit high, too, or else he'd have nipped this conversation in the bud. As it is, he actually thinks about it. Even if he doesn't gloss over his father, the resentment and maybe straight-up hate at the end, there was still love all around. Yet why didn't Mary’s support cancel out John’s occasional outbursts, his domineering personality?

He laughs. “I dunno what to tell you, man. Don't psychoanalyze me.” He knows Cas won't really take that for an answer, but he has to throw it out first. “I think I say what I need to say, even if I don't go into detail. Or I make it obvious, even if I don't use words, y'know?”

Cas nods solemnly. “Yes, I think I know.”

“Are you calling me emotionally stunted or some shit?”

“Never,” Castiel replies lazily, sincerely. “You're genuine, just quiet. Quiet can be good. I just wondered.”

“It's not like you're much more talkative,” Dean says. “I never see you spilling your guts about your feelings.”

Cas laughs. “Didn't you know? Novaks are bred to be silent.”

He laughs again at his seeming joke, then lights another bowl as if the conversation is at its end, its mystery resolved. And Dean lets him, lets it fade into the night.

\---

The Company

**★♡♛✰Bradburn✰♛♡★:** Hey guys i can’t make today :((( Rain check?

 **Katniss Tran:** Me either. Got to finish this project.

 **That Novak Boy:** Dean, are you still available today? We could study at my place instead, since it’s no longer a group that warrants the library

 **Dean:** yeah im still free. 20 min

\---

Dean’s been there a few times now, but it takes a little before he locates it, dragging his backpack up the stairs with him. He texts Cas and hears the door unlock only seconds later. Smiling, he enters and walks the one floor up and knocks on the door. Cas opens it and lets Dean in.

“Welcome.” Dean drifts over the couch, Cas into the kitchen. “I figured,” he says over the sound of the tap, “we could do some flash cards and then work on whatever other classes we need to, since there’s not much this week for advanced genomics.” Dean relaxes into the sound of his deep voice, hardly paying attention to the words.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, sounds cool.”

Cas comes back out with two cups of water, setting them on the automan and joining Dean on the couch. Dean reaches for the glass for something to do, drinking half before setting it down. A little routine that he loves about Cas’ apartment.

He turns to see Cas looking at him with a small smile. He doesn’t try to hide his gaze, instead looking into Dean’s eyes calmly. Then he goes about getting his textbook ready as if nothing out of the way has happened. Dean does the same to distract from the slight heat he can feel in his cheeks. Study time, Dean reminds himself. Study dates are fake. Study _time_.

Castiel pulls out blank notecards and hands them to Dean to make them, since he know Dean enjoys that. Once he’s handed them over he buries himself in reading the text, eyes tracking back and forth. Dean begins the notecards with a distracted start, but manages to get sucked into it. When he announces he’s finished, Cas looks up and they take turns reading out the terms for the other to guess.

“Achondroplasia is caused by…”

“A point mutation in FGFR3,” Cas intones.

“And what does that stand for?”

“Fibroblast growth factor receptor 3,” comes the immediate reply. Dean pouts. He thought he could stump him, but Cas is like a machine; he reads the textbook and the answers come back out of him so easily, almost verbatim.

Flash cards continue, but their studying integrity devolves and it becomes a game.

“Give me that card! I know what it said and you’re lying!”

Cas guards it with a smirk.

“Nope. Tell me the correct amount of normal trinucleotide repeats in the FMR1 gene, Dean.”

“I did!” He makes a grab for the card but Cas leans back. “5 to 42!”

Cas relents, flipping over the card. _5 - 44_ , in Dean’s own handwriting. Damnit.

Dean reaches over and yanks it out of his hand, crumpling it up and then throwing it at Cas. Cas smooths the paper out, puts it in back of the pile, keeping eye contact, and picks up the next card to read. Cas is still grinning, that infuriating idiot, and Dean is no better; he can feel the open-mouthed smile on his face.

Cas doesn’t read anything yet, though, bright eyes still on Dean, and Dean can’t help himself. Screw just friends. He takes the stack of notecards from Cas’ hands, drops them on the ground, and puts a hand on the man’s chest, pushing slightly. Cas falls back easily, and Dean follows.

Here he hesitates for a second, letting Cas adjust, but apparently it’s too long because Cas brings Dean down with a hand on the back of his neck. Their lips crash together violently, and Dean resists slightly, pulling back a small distance. He locks eyes with Cas, then closes them again as he leans in for a series of sweet kisses. Cas sighs, hand pressing harder on Dean’s neck, and Dean obliges.

Annoyance. Dean hears a text alert, then another, but he ignores them both, deepening the kiss. Cas responds in kind, hands moving to Dean’s sides; he runs his fingers down Dean’s flanks—  
  
Until the ringer goes off. _God damnit._  
  
Dean groans in frustration, then scrambles up to answer Charlie’s call (he can tell it’s hers because of the personalized Taylor Swift ringtone that he doesn’t know how to change back.)  
  
“Yes??”  
  
“Sorry to call, but I figured this was important.” Dean can hear the excitement in her voice and tries to compose himself. “Dang, why are you so out of breath?”  
  
Dean self-consciously flits his eyes to Cas, who’s sitting up now, too— looking down at his hands, slight color in his cheeks.  
  
He coughs. “You caught me exercising. What’s so important?”  
  
“I found him.” Dean can hear the clicking of her keyboard. “I called Cas first but he didn’t answer. That boy’s voicemail greeting is something else. Anyway, here, I sent you the details. Background, location. Everything I could find, which wasn’t much, honestly.”  
  
“Oh, that was fast.” Cas is looking at him now, slightly tilt-headed. “Thanks, Charlie, you’re the best.”  
  
“I know.” She laughs. “Have Cas tell me how it goes, alright? And wish him luck.”  
  
“Will do.” Dean hangs up and turns to Cas. Cas looks back, uncertain— an unusual expression for his face.

Now that the heat of the moment has passed, Dean struggles to put himself back in friend mode, unsure how to navigate the new reality of their friendship… relationship… thing. He chooses avoidance. Avoidance is good.

Thankful he has an urgent topic to focus on, so he slips into conversation.  
  
“So, I don’t know how much you could hear, but Charlie found your dad.” He pulls up the new email, showing it to Cas. “Port Townsend, I guess?”  
  
Castiel goes wide-eyed and reaches for his coat on the automan.  
  
“Woah, tiger. That doesn’t mean you have to go right now.” Dean chuckles. “I have class this afternoon. Shouldn’t we wait a few days and make this a weekend thing?”  
  
Cas slumps back down and nods, uncertainly. “I guess so.”  
  
“Plus, that way I have time to borrow Benny’s car.”  
  
“Why would you need to do that?”  
  
“‘Cause I left mine in Kansas, and you don’t have one.”  
  
“I do have one, Dean. I just keep it on Mercer Island at my mother’s house because I dislike driving. I could Uber there right now.”  
  
“Oh,” Dean stalls. He guesses he shouldn’t’ve assumed Cas would want him to come, anyway. This is a personal thing, and they’re not more than study friends. Good friends. Friends that occasionally make out. “I guess you’re all set to go, then.”  
  
“No, you’re right. As you said, you have class later, and it will take several hours of driving both ways. We could make it a weekend ‘thing’, if you can get off work?”  
  
Cas’ eyes are asking some sorta question that Dean doesn’t know how to answer, so instead he just replies, “Of course. But I’m driving.”  
  
Cas smiles and opens his phone calendar, launching into planning mode.


	6. Chapter 6

**From:** kickasshermione@gmail.com  
**To:** deanw96@uw.edu  
**Subject:** PROJECT PATERNITY DEETS!  
\---  
  
He doesn’t often need a car, but when he does he really misses his Impala back at home. Being the family car, it’s not like he could have exactly taken it with him, and parking would’ve been expensive, anyway. Still, it would’ve been perfect for this little road trip. Cas’ car is fine, he guesses. Except for the fact that it’s a fucking _Kia_ , it’s fine.  
  
In the passenger seat, Cas is talking softly, and Dean’s content to just drive and listen.  
  
“Did you know that Port Townsend has a lot of original Victorian style homes? There’s a protected historic district. A Victorian seaport, isn’t that fascinating? There’s also lots of art galleries and artists. I’ve never been, but I have always liked Fremont, so I think I’ll like Port Townsend; it sounds like a smaller Seattle. Of course, they’re surrounded by water so there’s a large boat culture. That doesn’t interest me much, but what most grabbed my attention was the Port Townsend Marine Science Center, because as you know…”  
  
Dean lets him infodump and tries to anticipate how this meeting will go. He knows it’ll probably be emotionally charged. Hopefully positive emotions, but Dean’s a realist and he recognizes that even if it’s positive, it’ll probably still be awkward as hell. He thinks through several scenarios and what he can do in response, because he wants to be there for Cas however he can.  
  
He realizes Cas has paused with his facts, and it’s Dean’s turn to respond.  
  
“Sounds like you memorized the Wikipedia article for this place.”  
  
“That is where a lot of my preliminary information came from, yes. Although I spent a lot time on Washington state’s Parks website reading up on Fort Worden, and on the Center’s website, too.”  
  
Dean laughs and glances over. “Nervous?”  
  
“A bit,” Cas responds with a shaky grin. “I have no idea how to navigate a relationship with a father, so this is unfamiliar territory.”  
  
“Well, I probably can’t help you a whole lot on that.” He adjusts his hands on the wheel. “What do you imagine he’ll be like?”  
  
Castiel hums. “I did wonder quite a bit when I was younger. I imagined him as some magical figure who would find me on my 18th birthday and bring me to live with him. Though now, with the fact that he’s never tried to contact me, he’s probably an asshole. Maybe that's my mother's type.” Cas laughs a bit, but Dean can hear the wavering in it.  
  
“I bet he’ll still welcome seeing you. I mean, my dad wasn’t father of the year, but we had some good times.”  
  
“Yeah?” The look Cas gives him with his sad blue eyes just begs for Dean to tell a comforting anecdote, so he casts around for a memory that he can share. For some reason, before he can analyze it, he launches into the story of his seventh birthday party.  
  
Dean’s seventh birthday party had been so fun. There’d been pie and ice cream and they’d gone to one of those trampoline houses with a few of his friends. His dad got there just in time to open presents, and gave him the best nerf gun ever, and a helmet too. Dean ran around with that thing all day, even after they got home, and even got baby Sammy in on the game. It had been perfect.  
  
He elaborates and dramatizes, and soon Cas is laughing along at seven-year-old Dean’s antics. His chest gets all fuzzy at hearing Castiel laugh deeply, and he keeps up the stories.  
  
\---  
  
The closer they’d gotten, the tenser Cas had gotten, and, despite Dean’s frankly hilarious stories, they’d drifted into silence for the last few miles.  
  
Dean looks again at the email Charlie sent him, making sure he has all the details right before he pulls up in front of number 128. Dean looks over at the mailbox, which has the right number, but he can’t see the house clearly, just one of those big hedge bushes and what looks like a walkway.  
  
He looks back over at Cas, who is staring into space, his face shut down and expressionless. Dean likes to think he’s gotten good at reading Cas’ micro-expressions, but right now he has no clue. Nerves, Dean supposes.  
  
Without words, Dean opens his door and walks around to open Cas’. After a beat, Cas steps out and finally looks over at Dean, a tight almost-smile on his face.  
  
They walk around the hedge in silence and turn the corner, staring at where the walkway turns into a dock stretched in front of them. There are houseboats branching off from the main dock, and some of them are actually pretty swanky.  
  
Dean’s surprised; he’s never seen a floating home aside from ant-sized glimpses when he goes over some of Seattle’s bridges, and he hadn’t expected anything that sat on logs to be very nice. But as they walk down, Dean checking the numbers near the doors, he has to say he’s kind of impressed. Maybe Cas’ dad is actually a cool guy who lives in a cool house.  
  
Number 128— they stop, and Dean restrains himself from doing a double take. Unlike the cute surrounding houses, this one’s a bit of an eyesore. Peeling paint in an ugly color, sagging a little on a side. It was probably charming once, but right now it could use some love. Dean watches Cas, but his expression doesn’t reveal anything.  
  
“You ready?”  
  
Cas nods, and steps up to the door.  
  
He knocks. And waits. And knocks again.  
  
Just as Dean is suggesting they come back later, there’s a noise at the door and it opens.

Behind it stands a disheveled dude in what looks like a bathrobe, his hair sticking up everywhere. Sorta like Cas’ does.  
  
“Charles Shurley?”  
  
“Chuck. Why?”  
  
“My name is Castiel—”  
  
Chuck laughs awkwardly. “Sure. Look, it’s always nice to meet fans. I think I have some posters inside.” He moves to close the door, but Dean grabs ahold of the edge.  
  
“We’re not fans, believe me.” Well, he can’t speak for Cas, but so far Dean is not a fan of this guy. “This is Castiel, your son.”  
  
Chuck freezes and stares at Cas.  
  
“Hello?” Cas offers up.  
  
Chuck shakes his head. “Um, I’m not sure what you guys are on, but if you want to come back later—”  
  
Cas looks like he’s about to casually slip off the side of the dock into the water.  
  
“No,” Dean replies forcefully. “Now is good.” He gives Chuck a strong look and they end up through the doorway, Chuck running around trying to put things in better order.  
  
As run-down as it is outside, the house is pretty cozy inside. Dean and Cas wander over to a broken-in leather couch and settle themselves down. Chuck, deeming it uncluttered enough, comes over and chooses a chair across from them. He looks overwhelmed, and, Dean thinks, as his eyes find the liquor bottles Chuck’s tried to hide in the corner of the room, is probably nursing a fun hangover.

“So,” Chuck sighs deeply, “what’s all this about Castiel? I know he had a huge fan response but—”

“Buddy, we really don’t know what we’re supposed to be fans of. This is my friend Castiel Novak, and you’re his father.”

Chuck looks pale and not at all ready to hear this news. “I just don’t see how that could be possible.”

Cas finally speaks up, sounding monotone. “I was born in 1997, my mother is Naomi Novak, and she says you’re my biological father.”

Chuck, if possible, goes paler. “Oh. Naomi. Oh.”

Since the two other players in the room seem pretty frozen, Dean works to keep the conversation moving forward. “So you knew Naomi? Is it possible that you, uh, y’know… Well, how well did you know her?”

The man shakes his head violently and stands up, but Dean’s stab of panic that they’ve got the wrong guy is unwarranted. “Yeah, I definitely knew her. We dated for a while when we were in high school, and then her family up and moved. She never said goodbye, even. I wonder—” He stops pacing and looks, shyly, at Cas. “This is kind of crazy. But… maybe you’re why they relocated so suddenly.”

He looks at Castiel, who's still as a statue. “That might make sense,” he finally says.

“What's this whole name confusion?” Dean asks. “Castiel?”

“The name came from her; we would talk about my stupid ideas and brainstorm together… who would've thought that she'd name you the same name as my character.” The man chuckles. “I'm published now, so I have a few crazy fans who track me down.” He looks at them. “Sorry about all that.”

Dean waves his hand, dismissing the issue. “We get it. I guess. Um,” he turns to Cas, “I’m gonna give you guys some space, is that alright?”

Cas nods and Dean retreats to the dock, keeping an eye on the situation through the window. He leans against the house, rough side paneling digging into his shoulder, and has a cigarette to kill time.

Halfway through his second one, he realizes his lighter is still heavy in his hand, and looks down at it. He eyes at the engraving, running his thumb over the name.

It’s stupid, but this whole father-quest has forced him to remember things about his own dad, and he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t need it. But he can’t help it.

One of his earliest memories: Mary hangs up the phone angrily, but Dean isn’t paying attention. His mommy hugs him, and she smells safe, so he’s happy.

Then: him and Sammy playing in a kiddie pool in the backyard. A shiny moment in time. His brain adds details from later, more cynical memories— the dead grass in the summer and the scorching heat of the concrete stepping stones. Dean’s splashing his brother, pushing him, holding him under the water— he gets carried away and Sammy comes up crying. It’ll be forgotten in a minute, it didn’t mean anything, but grown-ups just don’t get that.

  
_Dean!_

A shadow over him. Dean turns around and looks up, up, up at his dad’s mad face, at his head blocking the sun.

Another: He gets up for water in the middle of the night, still mostly asleep. Walks to the bathroom, hears an overlay of loud voices from the living room. A high one— his mom— and a low, dangerous one. He decides he doesn’t really want water, and returns down the hallway.

Then: The divorce.

His dad calls too often and his mom just watches the phone ring, not picking up, but not rejecting the call, either. He tries to focus on his homework.

And: Bobby teaches him how to shave.

Dean takes a deep drag on his cigarette and looks out at the water and surrounding houseboats.

And: His foot is killing him against the clutch because John insisted that wearing socks is the best way to practice. Dean finally puts the car in neutral, pulls up the parking brake, and relaxes his feet. He gets out, looks at his dad’s smiling face, and smiles back. The car is flush against the curb; not a perfect parallel parking job by any means, but a decent start. _Good job, son._

And: He likes it when it’s his dad’s weekends— the house might be smaller, but John is gone enough that Dean can have girls over without a watchful eye (while Sam is at his after-school club, the nerd). When John returns in the middle of him lifting Rhonda onto the kitchen counter, he just smiles a little and walks right back out the door. Dean ignores how that makes him feel, and goes back to kissing Rhonda.

  
(He pointedly doesn't think about the time John catches him with Aaron, and how differently that scene plays out.)

And: He’s ended up the designated driver again tonight. It’s a good thing he recently got his license. At a stoplight he reaches over to the passenger seat; Dean tests John’s breathing with a finger under his nose, and finds it warm and fast. Eyes closed, John blindly pushes away his hand, but Dean repeats the test at each light, a chain of stops that leads the way home. Sammy’s still asleep in the back seat. Good, Dean thinks. School tomorrow.

Back in the present, Dean flicks his cigarette butt into the water. He runs his hand over his face and instantly feels bad about it. The environment, and all that— Cas would be disappointed, he’s sure. Sounds about right.

Speaking of… He shakes his head of thoughts and looks back in the window. Cas is looking down at his hands but his mouth is moving, so that’s a good sign. He looks up suddenly and catches Dean’s eye, and smiles. His hand motion beckons, so Dean opens the door and goes inside, smelling of smoke.

 

\---

  
It’s not too long before they head out, Cas and Chuck exchanging email addresses and awkward goodbyes. Cas is again silent in the car, so Dean makes a decision. It takes Cas a while to realize.

“Dean, where are you going? We’re not on the quickest route back to Seattle.”

“No, we’re not, but trust me.”

It’s a little anticlimactic. The beach is visible even before they get to it, and is obviously their destination. Still, Cas gets out without hesitation, and Dean even sees a small smile before he turns and starts walking away from Dean.

They stroll, examining the tide pools they find, Cas bending down often to collect a shell or rock.

Slowly, they start talking. It's practically inevitable.

“I tried to not have any expectations, but that was still not what I expected. He was so… I don't know. It sounds silly, but he was so human.”

“Yeah.” Dean half-chuckles. “I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

“I told you about my birthday party on the drive here? Well, it wasn’t like that exactly. My dad was late, he almost missed it. My parents wouldn’t stop arguing at home, so I played soldiers to distract Sammy. But it was still a great birthday. I guess what I’m saying is, we all have to deal with our dads being slightly clueless, making mistakes and all, but that doesn't mean they don't have the potential for a good relationship.”

“Well, I'm comforted that you figured out a good relationship with your father, despite his shortcomings,” Cas sighs.

Dean looks at the rocky sand and manages a noise in response.

They walk on in comfortable silence, and watch the seagulls play along the beach. Soon, the sun sets, slowly at first and then in a quick succession of hues, until it's finally below the horizon. The night gets chillier, and they hurry back to the car, tired and happy.

  
\---

  
Somehow Cas ends up in his bed. Well, it’s not exactly _somehow_ , because Dean is warned a mile away.

“Can I stay over?” Cas asks as they turn off the highway, in a way that couldn’t elicit any response but “Of course.” Dean clicks on the turn signal towards his place.

He has plenty of time to back out, to take a different turn towards Cas’ apartment, to set up the couch with the extra duvet, but of course he doesn't do that. He can’t. So he just doesn’t think about it, through climbing the steps; through unlocking the door, the little red numbers on the microwave reading 10:38pm across the room; through lending Cas sweatpants; through brushing their teeth together, sneaking little glances at his friend in the mirror; through figuring out which side of the bed to claim.

All of this until he’s here, with Cas asleep at his side. It’s not a big bed, and the warmth of a body is close to him. He’s promised himself to be a good friend, though, (even if that's mostly failed), so he just watches Cas breathe slowly and makes sure none of their limbs are touching before he falls asleep himself.

  
\---

  
They go for coffee the next morning, ‘cause the stuff Dean has is only a last ditch effort, and he’d rather pay to have something good. Plus, he can’t serve powdered coffee to Cas, a guest and native Seattleite. That’s just asking for trouble.

Dean checks the cafes in the area, since he’s quickly been schooled out of thinking Starbucks is acceptable to sit down in. He laughs at his phone. Ugly Mug Cafe? Sounds perfect.

Well, the idea was coffee, but Cas doesn’t decide to tell Dean he only drinks tea until they’ve found a table, and having a tea just seems incomplete and wrong, so it becomes breakfast. According to Yelp this places has good food, so he figures why not. He would’ve had to eat at home, anyway, and eating with Cas instead is not something to complain about.

Dean gets waffles and bacon, Cas some pastry swirl. Well, he only orders the pastry, but then he steals half of Dean’s breakfast, too, though Dean can't bring himself to mind.

They talk about everything. That's one of the things he loves—likes—most about Cas, the fact that they can talk forever and never run out of topics; everything sounds interesting in his voice.

  
Right now they're debating musicals, (a topic Dean knows nothing about, he swears, even if he can quote Rent), heads close together, Cas stealing bacon from Dean’s plate and pretending it wasn't him. Cas laughs and Dean is caught up in how his face looks, crinkled and genuine. He has to look away before he's sucked in so he looks up, and accidentally catches the eye of guy in line who, Dean notices, is holding the hand of the man next to him. The guy smiles at him, a smile of solidarity, and Dean swallows. Snaps his eyes away.

He drops his voice to a whisper. “I think that dude thinks we're together.”

Cas doesn't even look around to find who Dean’s referencing. “But we are together.”

“No, like, _together_ together.” He gestures between them. “A couple. As in on a date, together.”

“Oh. Why is that a problem?” Cas eyes Dean questioningly.

“It's not true.”

Cas’ smile is a distant memory from his face; now there's confusion deep in the lines of it. “Dean, we've kissed before, and gone on several outings together that could constitute dates. We spend basically every waking hour together. As far as I'm concerned, you're more than a fling.”

Dean freezes. He can feel his face heat up, his pulse the focus of his body. “What?”

“I mean, I really enjoy your company, and I find you attractive. I thought that was obvious, but maybe I wasn't clear enough.”

Dean reflects on all the food treks, the meals together, the walks, hanging at each other’s places alone, the way Cas stands closer to Dean than he does to others, the easy way Dean sometimes puts his arm over Cas’ shoulders.

“Are we a _thing_?”

Dean swears his voice isn't that loud or high-pitched, it isn't. He just desperately needs it not to be true.

“I've obviously never been explicit about it, but I thought you felt the same way.” Cas looks uncertain, his usual bravado absent. “I move slowly and it seemed you were okay with that. I know it's rather naïve but I thought—”

The coffee shop chatter around them is gone, it's just Dean’s anxious pulse and Cas sitting across from him, saying things that sound like they're from a silly dream he would have in high school. So why is he reacting as if this is a nightmare?

Everything is amplified, but muffled. The people at the table next to him seem interested in his conversation and he feels a hot flush of shame that anyone might be overhearing this, might be assuming he's someone’s _boyfriend_.

“The fact that we haven't fucked means we're not together.” Dean doesn't know why he replies this, so harshly, but he does. “Have you met me? I don't date guys. And if I'm actually interested in someone, they know.”

Cas looks stricken, but tries to exit the conversation gracefully. “I misinterpreted, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to assume your friendship meant anything more—”

“You sure did assume. We're nothing. Thinking I'd want to date you is laughable.” Every word he says makes him cringe internally, but Dean can't seem to help his mouth. He watches what's happening in his heart mirror itself in Cas’ face, then smooth out into an unreadable mask.

“I see. Thanks for disillusioning me of that notion.” Cas stands up violently and practically speed walks outside of the cafe before Dean even registers it happening.

God, what has he just done?

\---

 **Dean:** Im sorry

 **Dean:** Hey

 **Dean:** Can we talk? please

 **Dean:** I didnt mean it, can we talk in person I have stuff to tell you

Cas is not replying, obviously. Why would he? Someone can't just have an outburst like that and then expect the other person to hear them out. Dean sighs deeply.

It’s strange to have what feels like their first fight as a couple when they’re not even a couple. He’s made sure of that, Dean thinks bitterly. Good job.

He’s not sure why he reacted so strongly, but he’s still stubborn about it. He’s not boyfriend material, he never will be, he didn’t come from it and he just wasn’t made for it. And he can prove that.

In a daze, he follows his impulse and scrolls down to Lydia’s number. Perfect.

\---

They go to the Ave, lunch that bleeds into them returning to his apartment, with purpose. She's cute, okay to talk to. Being down there had distracted him, though, reminded him of going out with Cas and his friends, so he brings her to his room. That reminds him of Cas, too, passed out in bed with him so recently, and he pushes the thoughts away, forcing himself to focus on her in the present. His phone buzzes so he silences it, and uses the pause to try and clear his mind. Succeeds for a bit.

  
\---

Dean walks her out, like a gentleman. He's not going to walk her all the way to her sorority, cause this ain't a _date_ , but downstairs is the least he can do. She's laughing as she says goodbye and pushes through the door, and that's when he sees him. Cas, on the steps to the outside door, frozen.

Dean's insides turn to metal, heavy and oppressive. He instinctively runs outside to explain, but forgets that Lydia is still on her way out. She intercepts him right as he reaches Cas.

“What's got you in such a hurry to see me again?” She purrs, somehow oblivious to Cas standing there.

Dean clears his throat, tries to laugh it off. “Nothing, just saw my friend out here and came to say hello.”

Her gaze turns on Cas finally, and Dean can almost feel the wave of rage and betrayal that Cas directs towards him.

“Oh, hi! I'm Lydia!”

“Castiel,” Cas grates out. He ignores her offered hand, instead staring at Dean. “Is this what you had to tell me?”

If a voice could cut, Dean would be bacon frying in a skillet right now.

“No, no, no.” What he had wanted to say was something along the lines of _I meant the opposite, I'm obviously into you too, please take me back_ , but he’s currently hyper-aware of Lydia's attention on this exchange. His chest squeezes. It's like some kind of torture device: his internal soup of shame, embarrassment, his father's negative reinforcement, the slurs someone graffitied on his neighbor’s mailbox when he was 7; all of that versus the force of what he wants to say, the strong friendship they've built, the pride flags that started appearing in Lawrence right before he left, this city, _Cas_.

He wants to do it, fall on his knees, but— He looks over at Lydia and her polite, confused smile, and he can't. He's sure she'd be accepting, but that logic doesn't combat the discomfort prickling under his skin at doing this in public.

“It's sorta— it's— yeah. That's what I was going to say, buddy.”

Cas nods. How can anyone communicate that much hurt in a nod? “Alright,” he says stiffly. “Good for you.” And then he walks away again.

Lydia looks over, questioning. “What was that all about?”

He can't even answer her.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean isn’t moping— he’s reflecting. He’s reflecting on how he got here, and how he can possibly get on from here.

  
He keeps rereading Cas’ response, the one he didn't see because he was occupied with Lydia.

 **Castiel:** Very well, I'll hear you out. I'll be over soon.

Okay, he’s sort of moping. His fling with Lydia, far from helping him rebound, had cemented the knowledge that he really would have liked a relationship with Cas. And just as he'd been ready to say so, Cas had showed up at the worst possible moment and Dean had killed that possibility. He wants to talk to Cas, but what could he possibly say?

It’s just— he knows he likes guys, obviously. He’s been drawn to Cas since they met, and a few other passing flirtations before him. But that’s the thing: Cas isn’t a passing flirtation. Dean likes him a lot and that’s frightening, and he didn't fully realize until Cas confronted him with it, and he’s gone and sabotaged himself. Really, he doesn’t have a great track record for relationships, and it seems hereditary. It’s in his genes at this point. He can feel it in his gut.

Well, maybe the feeling in his gut is more shame and nausea at his impulsive, destructive decisions, his inability to say what he want to, but it’s all the same. It’s all him.

\---

Charlie, though he mainly sees her in study group, has become a good friend since he’s moved to Washington; probably his best friend. Maybe his only friend now, Dean scoffs in his head. Or, well, there’s always Benny, and Kevin.

But Kevin is always studying and Benny is with Andrea, so currently Charlie is the one cuddled up on the couch, watching _The Empire Strikes Back_ with him and hoarding the ice cream she insisted on bringing. The Imperial Walkers have just appeared on screen, so he doesn’t hear his apartment door bell the first two times it rings. It’s only when it rings a third time that he hears the tone.

As he stands to answer it he looks over at Charlie, whose expression is half confusion and half trepidation. He knows they’re both wondering the same thing— is it Cas? Dean’s stomach rolls as he approaches the door, Charlie a few steps behind him. He braces himself, then opens it.

Well, that’s worse than Cas.

“Meg? Why are you here?”

Meg smiles, an unhappy expression, and walks into the apartment. The moment she sees Charlie behind him, he can see her hackles raise even more.

“Well, what I wanted to say hinged on the fact that you were actually into Cas, but since you’ve clearly moved on…”

“It’s not like that,” Dean says while Charlie blurts out, “I'm gay.”

Meg still looks on the warpath, but she also hasn’t left yet, so Dean struggles to clarify. Charlie does the same, overlapping him as they both try to pacify Meg.

“This is Charlie, we’re just friends.”

“We’re watching _Star Wars_ , It’s his break-up moping movie.”

“Cas knows her from study group—”

“He’s totally still lovesick—”

Dean turns to glare at her, and Meg puts her hands up.

“Alright, enough. I might as well say what I came to say. You wouldn’t mind getting us some coffee, would you, hon?” Meg looks at Charlie.

Charlie scurries off to the kitchen and Dean warily follows Meg to where she sits on the couch.

“So, he’s obviously pissed at you,” Meg says without preamble, once Dean is seated.

“Cas?”

“Yes, dummy. But he also can’t stop talking about you, and it’s driving me nuts.”

Dean just looks at her, not wanting to believe what he thinks she's saying.

“Now, normally, he moves on at lightning speed, but…” She waves her hand. “I don't know how you broke things off but it's really messing with him so it must've been immature. So what I need to know is, are you ready to stow the bullshit and actually talk to Cas like an adult, or is this just a fun game?”

He thinks of Lydia and feels sick, but it doesn't change his answer. “It’s not a game,” Dean manages.

“Alright.” She looks at his expression and shakes her head. “Do I need to spell it out? Get off your ass and apologize. Go resolve things so I can have some peace. Label it, break up decisively— I don’t care. Just talk.”

Dean finds his voice. “If he really could forgive me, why didn’t he respond to my calls or texts?”

“Because for the past two days he’s been curled up watching nature documentaries, only taking breaks to moan and groan to me about it. He thinks he doesn’t want to talk to you, but he does. Knock some sense into him.”

Dean shakes his head softly, but Meg gets up from the couch, done speaking.

“Oh, and,” she says, as she opens the door to leave, “if you break his heart I’ll break your face, so don’t let me down, Dean-o.”

Dean just watches as she leaves; at that moment Charlie finally comes back with two cups of coffee.

“She didn’t even want this, did she.” Charlie sighs and sits next to Dean, putting the rejected cups on the coffee table. “Well, what now?”

“I guess now I go take my shot at getting him back.”

  
\---

  
He almost doesn’t get the courage to go. Why would Cas possibly want him? He’s done nothing but lash out. He couldn’t even handle being friends, why would Cas want to try at more, seeing what Dean’s already unleashed?

Obviously Meg hadn't been told the full story. She had assumed they were together, maybe, and Cas hadn't corrected her. She’d assumed that Dean had said some immature things instead of breaking up, or had offended Cas somehow. But she still seems to think their ‘relationship’ can be salvaged.

So he pulls himself together. He's got to at least try. At least for the chance to apologize, regardless of if Cas forgives him or not, if Cas wants him or not. He deserves an apology, at least.

It’s not as easy as all that, though. Dean’s here, at Cas’ building, but he can’t bring himself to ring the bell. He sits on the steps up to the front door, concrete cold through his pants. He shivers.

He just can’t stop thinking it over— his freak-out, Cas’ reaction. The thing is, he doesn’t have anything to offer to mend it. He can apologize, sure, he can explain why, but it’s nothing concrete to say he won’t freak out again. Nothing to prove he’s really committed to this idea, of them, together, so at odds with the sentiment he'd voiced.

He knows he doesn’t have to. It's not what Cas had asked from him. And maybe Cas will accept him anyway, but he feels the need to put a stamp on this apology, verify it with action. Or, at least, with a phone call.

The line rings. Click.

“Hey sweetie. What’s up? I’m trying to help Sam with this problem but I’ve forgotten all my calculus. I give up. Ugh. It’s like they invented more since I graduated high school.”

“Maybe I can help him later.”

“Yeah, please. What are you up to right now?”

“I’m waiting outside my friend’s house. Could we talk?” Wow, Dean. Finesse and segue are definitely your strong suits.

Mary’s tone changes to a more serious one. “Of course, are you okay?”

Dean huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, actually, I think I’m great. I just have some things to tell you, is all.”

“Okay…” It’s soft.

He takes a deep breath, centers himself. “I’ve been thinking about dad a lot, recently. About the responsibilities he put on me to take care of Sam and him when he should’ve been doing that. Stuff I downplayed to you, and everyone else. Nothing concrete… but I don’t know…”

“Oh, honey, why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve talked sense into him or fought for better custody—”

“No. That’s the thing, I wanted to protect him. Or something. It’s all jumbled, ‘cause I mean, he’s my dad. Was my dad. I love him, he's family.” While Mary collects her thoughts, Dean forges on. “I used to resent you a lot, you know.”

“What for?”

“Well, you got to be divorced. You didn’t need to see him anymore. It was easy for you to be separate, but… he’s still Sam and my’s dad. We can’t divorce out of that one.” He tries for a laugh, but it doesn’t quite make it.

“It wasn’t easy. It’s still not easy,” Mary replies quietly, not laughing along.

“I know. I know now that it’s a bit more complicated than that. And I hate that I can’t just love or hate him. All I want to do is tell him these things to his face and make him acknowledge them, and apologize, but I can’t.” He pauses to steady his voice. “And at the same time, I want him back even though he’d hate me.”

“He never hated you, Dean.”

“You sure?” He laughs again, a desperate thing to keep his voice clear. “What about that time I crashed the Impala with Sam in the front? Or when I told him to fuck off because— Pretty sure there was some hate there.”

“No,” Mary replies immediately. “You’re our son, Dean. Neither of us could ever hate you.”

“What about that time we got new neighbors and Dad said he was lucky he didn't have a queer for a son like they did?” Dean almost chokes on the word, but manages. “Or the time he caught me making out with a boy and threatened to beat me into next Sunday? So yeah, pretty sure he would hate me if he knew.”

“He… what? He said that? If he laid a hand on you I swear to—”

“Just talk, mom.” He can't seem to stop laughing to soften this conversation, even if levity is the farthest thing from his mind right now. “Though I took it as law.”

Mary is silent for a beat, letting it sink in. “Dean, is this you coming out? Because if so I don't care, you're my son.”

Dean cough-laughs to get his voice back. “Sort of. I still like girls and all, but there's this boy…”

“Tell me about him.”

So Dean does, and by the time he's done singing Cas’ praises he feels a million times better. Mary doesn't hate him, at least, and that's good enough.

Once he peters out, Mary says, “He sounds wonderful, hon. And, for what it's worth, I really don't think John would hate you. He might've said that, but if he were alive I know he'd come around. He had a good heart.”

Dean doesn't know how deeply he believes that, but the relief to hear it out loud it huge.

“And if he didn't come around, screw him.” Dean's startled into a laugh to hear his mother say that. “I'm serious, Dean. Your happiness is all that matters.”

He won't cry, he won't. It's silly to get emotional. This is an old wound that should be dead by now. But he's emotionally stripped himself just to make this phone call, and his mother's acceptance feels good, goddamnit. The weight off his chest feels like a physical thing.

“Thanks, mom.” They take a few breaths together through the phone. “Hey, I'll call back later, okay? I have something to do. Could you pass me to Sammy first, though?”

Sam’s voice rings through the phone, distracted. “Hey Dean.”

“Hey, Samsquatch.”

“Is whatever you’re calling about gonna make me cry like it did mom?” He doesn’t sound worried, just curious in that cheeky way of his.

“No, I hope not. I just figured I should tell you”—ripping the bandaid off is easier the second time—“I like dudes.”

“Oh. So you’re gay?”

“I still like chicks too. Bi, I guess?” The word feels weird in his mouth, but not wrong.

“Well, cool. I thought you were gonna tell me something depressing. You know that this isn’t a huge shock, right?”

That gives Dean pause. “It’s not?”

“I mean you’re so butch, you must’ve been compensating for something.” Dean is again surprised into a laugh and Sam joins him, the solemnity of the past hour dissolving.

“So, not to be rude, but Mom said you could help me with my homework? This problem is impossible.”

Dean smiles. “Sure, let me get on video chat.”

  
\---

  
The happy glow of talking to his family floats him to the door. Still, it doesn’t protect him from the anxiety that starts worming in his chest once he gets there. A couple is coming out of the building as he crests the steps, so he hurries in before the door closes, thankful he doesn’t have to ring up and convince Cas to let him in.

His legs carry him up the steps to Cas’ place, but his brain is somewhere else. It’s a shock when he reaches the door so quickly. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but hopes inspiration strikes once he sees Cas. How exactly is he supposed to explain where those words came from, and convince Cas they aren't true?

He knocks softly, then harder when there’s no answer. A shuffling behind the door and Dean can feel Cas assaying him through the peephole. When he finally opens the door, it’s not all the way, just enough to peek around it. His hair is on end and he’s wrapped in a blanket, and he looks ragged. Still attractive as ever, though, Dean thinks. He’s just happy to see him again.

Cas looks stormy. “What do you want?”

Dean looks at him, then past into the apartment. “Can I come in?”

Cas looks like he’s about to say ‘no’, but surprisingly lets him in, stalking away to the kitchen. Dean sits on the couch while Cas fills their water glasses, the routine reminding him painfully of their several study sessions. Cas comes back in and sets the cups down, not hard in anger but in a controlled way, and that makes Dean hopeful. He looks up, and Cas’ face is similarly controlled and emotionless. The hope shrivels a little.

“Again, what do you want?”

Dean examines this version of Cas, one that’s even more closed off than he was when they first met. One that would be unreadable, if he didn’t know him so well. This version, too, he thinks. Yeah, this version is good too. If he’ll have me.

Dean sighs. “I want to apologize. I want to explain. I want to beg forgiveness. Well, I want you.”

Cas’ eyebrows raise.

“That's not what you led me to believe.”

“I know.” Dean sighs again. “It's complicated.” He squeezes his hands together painfully, relaxes them. “I hoped that the dance we were doing was more than just friendship, but I wasn't sure how you felt. And I wasn't ready. And then when you brought it up, I lashed out.”

“And this is an apology how?”

“Well, first I have to explain.” Everything sounds silly in his head, and he doesn't know how to make Cas quite understand. “I told you that story about my seventh birthday party, right? My dad got there totally drunk, for one, then tried to drive me and my brother home with him in that state. My mother was furious, they almost came to blows. Just to give you an idea of the sort of guy he was.” Dean waves his hand. “That's not the important part. The important part is I grew up with clear ideas of who I had to be to live up to his standards. I'm sure you relate.” Dean tries for some connection, and sees that it might be succeeding. “I loved him, and I wanted to make him proud. And he was very clear that being a fag was not part of that. Needless to say, it doesn't feel _right_.”

Cas inhales, looks stony-faced. “Dean—”

“It doesn't excuse my behavior, okay? But I felt trapped when you kept talking about us being _together_ , as if it were obvious. I know you're from a state where being gay or whatever is okay, but I'm not.”

“Dean,” Cas’ voice is softer than Dean would've expected. “I understand what it's like, too. My mom wasn't thrilled, nor my family. I didn't realize you were still closeted.”

Dean looks up, and says lightly, “Not anymore.”

“Hm?”

“I just told my mom and brother. Before I came up. I'm trying, I am.”

Castiel sighs, and Dean can feel him softening. But he's not done, not quite. Cas stands, goes to retrieve something from the kitchen counter so that Dean can’t see his face when he asks:

“And Lydia?”

The question, though muffled, is sharp, and Dean can feel it hit him like a blow. He's ready for it, but it still throws him a bit. Cas turns back toward him, leaning against the counter. He’s almost close enough to touch, because it’s a small apartment, but he seems very far away.

“I— Jesus Christ, Cas. I was so hung up on you that I needed any sort of distraction or I was going to go bonkers. Thought it might help me get over you. Obviously, it didn't.”

Cas says quietly, “I thought, after I saw her there, it would help me get over you too.”

Dean quirks his eyebrow in a question. _And did it?_

Cas doesn't answer. “If all of this was true, I don't understand why you didn't just _talk to me_  before now.”

Dean shifts in his seat. That's the question he's been asking himself, too, on annoying repeat. He starts to say, “I don’t know—” but realizes that won’t cut it. He swallows. “I'm in the process of... unlearning a lot of things. Talking about us in public is still nerve-wracking, and I panicked.” All these honest expressions of emotion are exhausting, but he pushes through. “You make it sound so easy. It's _difficult_ to convince myself that this is okay, that you'd even want me.”

Cas still looks stoic, and Dean’s played his whole hand. He doesn't know what else he can say, expect the bare truth, and hope it's enough. He stands up and steps towards Cas.

“But it's worth it, okay? I've wanted you forever. I'm trying to get over my hang-ups, because anything is worth it if it means I have a shot at being with you.”

He sees Cas’ shoulders hunch up, but he doesn't reply. Finally, he looks up at Dean, and Dean can see the emotion threatening to spill over. As if approaching a skittish animal, he walks towards the counter and gingerly leans next to Cas.

“Didn't you ever do anything stupid because coming out was too hard? Work with me here,” Dean says into the silence.

Cas fiddles with a hangnail. “Yes, of course. Well, I told you about coming out to my extended family, but I’ve come out before that, obviously. It's ongoing.”

He sighs. “My friends have all known since I knew. My cousin Hannah was fine with it when I told her. But I did pretend to date one of my friends for over two years, for my mother's sake.”

“Damn.”

“Yes, it was taxing to keep up.”

“So how did you finally tell her?”

Cas looks down. “She started asking when we were going to get married." He grimaces. "We could've pretended to break up, I guess, but I couldn't help but say something. Coming out during an argument is not the greatest, but that seems to be my MO." He grins wryly, just a hint before it fades again.

"Anyway, I was afraid she was going to disown me, send me to Bible Camp or something equally dramatic. But she didn't, just heaped on the pressure to make up for my _sin_ by being successful." Cas sighs.

"That's horrible."

He does a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s better than some other options.”

“Yeah.” Dean knows that all too well. Cas side-eyes him at that tone, and he adds extra information, since they’re sharing and caring anyway. “My dad came home early once, caught me with this kid I had been fooling around with in highschool. It went over similarly. More yelling, though.”

Cas shifts closer, and Dean accepts the comfort. “He never mentioned it again, so I guess I got off easy. Really fucked with my head for a while, but since when is it ever smooth sailing.”

“And your mom never knew until now?”

“There was nothing _to_ know until now.” He looks over at Cas hopefully. “I told her all about meeting you.”

“Oh no,” Cas smiles. “Now there’s motherly expectations. How dare you.”

Dean grins back. “Playing dirty, I know.”

Cas cocks his head, assesses Dean. Dean feels his cheeks heat. “I guess I could be convinced.”

Deans heart skips a beat. “Wait, really?”

“Yes. I forgive you. It’s not like we were together, and I was unfair to put all these silent expectations on you and then expect you to follow through on them. Although,” and here his voice turns serious, “if you ever do cheat I’ll throw you out on your ass.”

Dean can’t help but smile, laugh. “Good.”

“I mean it, Dean. If Lydia ever so much as—”

“She won’t. I won’t. I’m in this, I swear.”

Cas finally smiles back, full and bright on his face. “Okay. If you swear.”

“Now what do you say we eat something? I’m starving.”

“Dean,” Cas replies, faux-surprised, “are you asking me on a date?”

“Yeah,” he grins cheekily, “I guess I am. Would you like to go on a date with me, Castiel Novak?”

He would, and he does.

\---

It’s been two weeks since they started dating, and nothing has really changed. They still relax around each other, sometimes awkwardly bumping knees, sometimes fitting perfectly onto Dean’s couch. They still study with their friends, host movie nights, go to occasional and stupid parties. They joke, Cas in his stoic way, one eyebrow giving him away, Dean laughing unabashedly. They still flirt, in person and now over text as well, or through Snapchat (Dean receives way more pictures of plant specimens than he can reasonably be expected to look at).

Well, of course, there are some differences. Now they also get to kiss each other without second-guessing; they get to sleep over with more than sleeping in mind; they get to say the word _boyfriend_ in public and private, on the phone and in the group chat, over email. Nothing’s really that different, except for the buoyant happiness Dean feels when he looks at his friend, ahem, _boyfriend_ ; except for the sureness with which Castiel twines their fingers together when they ride on the bus; (except for the sex.) It’s not that different, except that it is, and it’s perfect.


	8. Chapter 8

**To:** deanw96@uw.edu  
**From:** castielnovak@uw.edu  
**Subject:** FWD: RE: RE: Christmas?

  
\---

Dean gets the email from Cas when he’s in class, but he opens it immediately anyway. It’s originally from Chuck, and Dean reads it cautiously. However, by the time he gets to the end, he’s grinning.

  
\---

_Dear Castiel,_

_I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Our meeting was probably not the best first impression, since I was taken off-guard. Well, let me be honest-- I’m always rather awkward in person, which is why I chose a career in writing. The written word gives me time to edit and make sure I’m saying exactly what I want to, something that is not afforded me in real time._

_Anyway, tangents aside, the reason for this email is that I want to see you again, (hopefully frequently,) if you’ll give me a second chance at a first impression. I figure the best time for family reunions is during the holidays, so I’m hosting a party. Hanes Lane 128, Port Townsend, December 18, 7:00pm. You’re not at all obligated to come, but I hope I’ll see you there._

_You seem like a wonderful young man, and nothing would make me happier than getting to know you. I’ve missed a lot, but, if you’re willing, I’d love to make up for lost time._

_Sincerely,_  
Chuck  
(Is it too early to sign off as “Dad”?)

  
\---

_Hi Dad,_

_I don’t think it’s too early. In fact, it’s 20 years late :P_

_I’ll be there. Only if I’m allowed to bring my boyfriend, though. You’ve already met him._

_-Cas_

  
\---

_Dean, was it? Of course he’s welcome!_

_Sincerely,  
Dad_

  
\---

Dean jumps on him the second he’s in Cas’ apartment. After some adjustment to that surprise, Cas scoots over on the couch so they can both, barely, fit.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, amused. “What’s up?”

Dean smiles at him. “I’m just happy.”

Cas hums. “Me too.” He rubs his hand down Dean’s back and closes his eyes. “Did you see my email?”

“Yup. That’s part of why I’m happy.”

Cas opens his eyes to slits to peer at Dean. “And the other part…?”

“Because I’ve got you. That makes me happy all the time.”

As far as Dean can tell, Cas rolls his eyes. “When we met I never expected you to be this cheesy, Dean Winchester.”

Dean grins. “Don’t lie, you love it.”

Cas looks straight at him, and the sincerity of his voice makes Dean shiver. “I do.”

  
\---

The Christmas party is less awkward than Dean had expected, honestly. They found the place easily this time, and were surprised to see it all-out decorated. There are garlands strung around the windows, lights hanging from the roof edge, a wreath on the front door. It smells like pine and ocean, and the warm light inside is welcoming. People are already milling around, chatting as they walk in and out the open door and eat off paper plates.

Dean looks at Cas as if to say, Is this the right house?

Cas smiles a little, and drags Dean inside to find the host.

They find him in the kitchen— something smells burnt but there is edible food being passed around, so it’s not a total disaster. It takes two tries for him to answer to “Dad!”, but he whips around once he realizes it applies to him.

“Castiel!” Chuck still looks scruffy, but he’s cleaned up at bit and is wearing actual clothes, so that’s a bonus. And an ugly deer-patterned sweater— oh god. Dean hopes it’s ironic, but that’s probably wishful thinking. At least Cas will get a kick out of it.

They hug—Cas a little stiff as always, Chuck trying and failing to look at ease—and step away. Dean laughs internally. Like father, like son, he supposes. He comes forward to shake Chuck’s hand.

“And you’ve already met Dean,” Cas says, putting an arm around his waist and leaning against him. Dean grins down at him and then eyes Chuck. Thankfully he looks happy and relaxed, (or what counts for him as relaxed) and Dean grants him a smile too.

They stand hesitantly for a second too long before Chuck jumps into action. “Oh, here, I’ll introduce you to some people.”

He leads them around the living room, pointing out friends and naming them; they get stuck in conversation with Chuck’s next-door neighbor and the man wanders away to play his role as host. Eventually Dean and Cas drift from the conversation, finding room on the couch after loading up with food. Dean feels warm and giddy in a way that’s a bit foreign, but welcome. He feels like he’s finally in tune with the season, and having Cas by his side only helps with that.

An hour passes in a haze of food and laughter— someone brings out cards and the two of them steal wine from the kitchen since no one cares enough to stop them. Finally Chuck has greeted all his guests, or at least finished avoiding Cas and Dean, and comes over to their couch. Dean puts down their shared hand of Rummy and looks up.

He hovers over them, hesitant. Cas takes pity, apparently, though he seems equally ill-at-ease, and scoots over to offer a seat. “Want to join?”

“Sure,” Chuck hedges. They deal him in and continue playing with the neighbor and her son. Soon, the son wins, probably because Dean is very distracted in trying to keep an eye on how Cas is faring. As they clean up the cards, Chuck strikes up a conversation.

“So, how’s Seattle?”

“Gray, as usual.”

Chuck looks around uncomfortably. “Um, how’s school?”

Cas inclines his head. “It’s quite good, actually. I’m a junior, so I just declared my major in plant biology.”

Chuck’s eyes light up. “Oh? That’s so cool. I actually took a few electives in that area, though it wasn’t my strong suit at all.”

“Really?”

And off they go. Chuck even manages to eek a laugh out of Cas eventually, and Dean smiles. The rest of his family may not appreciate him, but here Cas finally has some common ground and a promising new familial relationship to explore. After all that ostracizing, it must be a wonderful feeling. Dean’s happy for him, and judging by his current smile, Cas is happy too.

\---

Dean slams the trunk of the Kia after putting the last bag in the back. He goes around to the passenger side, leaning against the side of the car as he watches Cas come down from his door, his backpack in hand. Dean idly plays with his lighter as he waits for Cas to reach the car.

They’ve decided to spend Christmas with Dean’s family— well, Dean decided once Cas let drop that his grandmother hadn’t invited him to Christmas dinner. Not that he wanted to go anyway, but like hell was Dean going to let his boyfriend be alone on Christmas. As his mother is obliged to be at the Novak dinner on Christmas, she and Cas had celebrated a few days before with a small gift exchange. Cas had come over teary-eyed, and Dean was in a rage until he realized they were cathartic tears; happy ones, even. They were mending their relationship and building a small offshoot family— Dean held him tighter that night than any other.

As it is, Dean has way enough family for the both of them, and they all want to meet Cas. With Cas’ car it’s a cheaper trip, and it will be a lot more fun to road trip together; a Christmas visit has successfully been justified. Sam had been overjoyed at the news, and Cas was happy in a subdued, soul-deep way. Dean smiles at the memory.

Straining, Cas finally makes it to the car and throws his bag in the backseat.

“You got snacks in that thing?”

“Yes, Dean.” He eyes the lighter. “Need a smoke before we leave? It’ll be a few hours until our first stop and I’m not letting you smoke in the car.”

“Dude, I’ve seen you smoke in here.”

“You know that cigarettes linger more permanently.”

Dean laughs. Yeah, yeah. “Moot point, anyway.”

Cas cocks an eyebrow.

“I’m quitting. Think I’ll give this lighter to Sammy, if he wants it.” Dean runs his thumb over the inscription once more, _J. Winchester_ , then pockets the lighter. “I won’t need it anymore.”

Cas comes around the car and kisses him, quick but heated. “I’m proud of you.”

Dean smiles sheepishly. “Thanks.”

Cas smiles back, a rare full smile. He grips Dean’s chin and guides Dean to look him in the eyes.

“And I love you.”

Dean swallows wrong. He's been tip-toeing around the word himself, and doesn't know if he can vocalize it.

“I— yeah.”

But he looks back into Cas’ eyes, and knows that it's true, whether or not he can say it out loud. Though, Cas deserves to hear it. He figures if he can only manage a whisper, that's still good enough.

“I love you, too.”

The look on Castiel’s face puts the sun to shame. He comes back in for another kiss, deep and claiming.

Needless to say, they hit the road a bit behind schedule.


	9. Epilogue

It's a family affair— warm and loud and rough around the edges. The food is enough to feed a village, and Dean even gets a chance to make the pie dough with Cas before they get distracted and leave the rest for Mary to finish. They've gotta check out Dean's childhood bedroom, obviously, after that exhausting cross-country drive.  
  
Cas’ trial by overenthusiastic family goes rather smoothly. He meets Mary first, and has a day to relax before Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and Sam crash the silence of the house on Christmas Eve. They stay over, cramped into all available sleeping areas, and that's all the excuse Dean and Cas need to share Dean’s old twin bed.

Christmas morning is a rather calmer one than many in the past; they all get up late, drift to breakfast, exchange small gifts around the table, eat cookies. Later, under the tree, Dean gifts Cas the ugliest sweater known to mankind, which he predictably loves, and some nerdy book that's just up his alley; (he slips him the personalized mixtape later). Cas buys Dean a sweater as well (surprise, surprise) and a dedicated star, a reminder for when he can't see any in the sky. Dean doesn't tear up, he really doesn't.

Sam accepts the lighter wordlessly, and keeps it.

Afterwards, with an old, animated version of _A Christmas Carol_ playing in the background, they finally dig in to an official Christmas dinner. On one side, Dean hears Bobby describing his vegetable harvest; on the other, Sam talk about all the colleges and universities he’s applied to, heavy on the amount on the west coast. California, mostly; far enough away from Washington for Sam to feel independent, and close enough that they can visit each other more often. Belly full, heart warm, Dean looks over at Cas, who's deep in conversation with Jo, and smiles. Good— he’s glad Sammy will be coming closer to Seattle. He knows he’ll be there for a while.


End file.
